


Of Trying and Towers

by parsnipit



Category: Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Fantasy AU, Fluff, M/M, Ridiculously Cliché, Slow Burn, i'm sorry in advance, logic being logic, lots of angsty anxiety, morality being a supportive dad, prince being stubborn and obnoxious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-10-30 20:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 68,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10883922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parsnipit/pseuds/parsnipit
Summary: “Then there’s Princey. He always wants to go haring off after these impossible, grandiose dreams.”“Like breaking the Queen’s Stone, stealing all of her power, and freeing the entire kingdom from a rule that’s lasted well over five centuries?”“Yeah,” Anxiety said. “Like that.”After (grudgingly) attempting to overthrow the monarch of his country, Anxiety finds himself the sole survivor of a curse that takes Thomas and the other sides away from him. To make matters worse, he’s trapped in a tower with his own self-loathing and cowardice, and he finds himself guarded by an unusually polite dragon. What’s a guy supposed to do?Break out of the tower, finish overthrowing the monarchy, and save Thomas and the other sides. Obviously. (Ugh. He really doesn’t feel good about this.)





	1. Divided We Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! here's some information about how i'll be tagging for triggers, if you need it: triggers found in specific chapters will be posted at the top of those respective chapters. however, there are some triggers that apply to a lot (if not all) of the chapters. those include forced captivity (anxiety is held in a tower against his will), swearing, general anxiety (bc anxiety is just sort of afraid of everything all the time; that’s our boy for you), and self-loathing (again, bc of Anxiety’s thoughts throughout). if there’s absolutely anything else that you need me to tag, please let me know!
> 
> chapter titles are taken from various musical sources, and that information will be available in the author's notes of each chapter. you can find me on tumblr as [parsnipit.](https://parsnipit.tumblr.com/) thank you so much for reading!
> 
> warnings for this chapter: mentions of torture, death, and execution, although they are brief and relatively non-graphic
> 
> the chapter title is from the song "divided we fall" from the thomas was alone soundtrack

Thomas crept forward, keeping his steps light and his weight on the balls of his feet. His shoes were heavier than he would have liked for such delicate work, but he definitely wouldn’t want to be caught bare-footed if he had to run. Which, he thought, gazing upon the mass of glittering scales and talons in front of him, was seeming more and more likely by the minute.

 _More and more likely? I’ve been_ telling _you we were going to die since you first came up with this stupid idea,_ Anxiety said, bubbling angrily in his stomach. _Don’t act like you’re just now thinking about the possible consequences. And—oh, god, watch where you’re stepping. There’s a piece of gold right by your foot._

Thomas skirted the gold, his breath tight in his throat. _Thanks, but, uh—maybe lighten up a little? I could use some encouragement right now._

 _You’re doing great, kiddo,_ Morality said, his voice unwaveringly optimistic.

 _Morality is correct. You have done adequately thus far,_ Logic said. _Everything is going according to plan._

 _Look—wow, look at that,_ Prince said, as Thomas’ eyes landed on the massive Stone near the center of the room. It was polished to a smooth orange gleam, draped with jewel-encrusted chainmail and nestled in a pile of dazzling gems. _Can you imagine what everyone is going to say once that’s_ ours? _Ooh—_

 _It’s not going to be ours,_ Logic said. _We’re destroying it, remember? This place doesn’t need another ruler, and even if it did,_ we _certainly wouldn’t be up to the task._

 _I disagree,_ Prince said. _We would be an incredible ruler. We’re kind, and aware of social problems, and willing to better ourselves whenever we can, and—_

 _Oh my god, watch your fucking_ feet—

Thomas froze at Anxiety’s warning, the edges of his shoes nudging up against a large loop of silver. He stepped cautiously over it, a shiver of fear running across his shoulders. He kept his eyes on the floor as he continued moving, grateful for the sudden silence in his head. (He had a feeling that if his sides distracted him from the task at hand any more than was strictly necessary, Anxiety would flip his lid—and the other sides probably knew it, too.)

He slowed as he neared the Stone, pausing a few feet in front of it with his heart in his throat. The Stone itself was, as Prince had pointed out, a stunning piece of work. It was nearly as large as Thomas himself was—if he had wanted to steal it, he would've had a serious problem. As it was, the only problem he currently saw was the beast coiled around the Stone.

It was only a fighting dragon, and that was some relief. If it had been a great dragon, he wasn’t sure that he could have summoned up the courage to risk this mission in the first place. Even as a fighting dragon, though, it was large, and he had no doubt that it could kill him with a single swipe. Its talons were tucked on either side of the Stone, and bringing himself within striking distance of them took a great deal of courage—and a great deal of murmuring platitudes to Anxiety, who was in absolutely no mood to listen.

Once he stood directly in front of the Stone, Thomas reached into his jacket, pulling out his dagger and taking a deep breath. He was going to do it—he was actually going to do it. Whether or not he lived after he had done it was still up in the air, but—but it was going to be done. He was going to destroy the Stone and shatter the Queen’s power. He was going to free the kingdom.

 _We’re going to be a hero,_ Prince said, his voice rich with reverence.

Thomas stretched a hand out, resting his palm against the smooth surface of the Stone, just between the tips of the dragon’s talons. It was strangely warm, crackling with power, and the air around it tasted like metal and heat. With his other hand he hefted his dagger and pulled it back, ready to drive the blade into the surface of the Stone. It didn’t need to shatter or break; the tiniest crack would do it—

And then the world was twisting apart and tearing him with it. His blood boiled in his veins, his breath seized in his lungs, and black dots danced wildly in his vision. He stumbled backwards, away from the Stone, crashing into a platinum statue and toppling it over. The dragon’s eyes snapped open, its head coming up with a furious sound and its talons yanking the Stone back under the safety of its belly.

 _What’s happening?_ Thomas thought, struggling to stay up on legs that threatened to crumple beneath him. _Logic, what’s—_

 _I don’t know, but our priority right now needs to be getting away from_ that.

The dragon’s tail lashed, sending shards of gold and jewels scattering. Its eyes blazed, pupils swelling enormously as it saw him, muscles bunching along its shoulders and haunches as it prepared to lunge.

 _Move, move, move!_ Anxiety said, kicking Thomas’ heart into overdrive with a rush of adrenaline-drenched blood.

He bolted towards the side of the room, out of the dragon’s path, but once he was there his legs buckled under him. His knees hit the ground hard, pain jolting up his bones and into his spine, and his vision left him completely. Pain twisted in his head, pointed and sharp, and his stomach flipped violently.

 _Oh, god, we’re dying,_ Anxiety said. _We’re dying, we’re fucking dying—_

 _We are not. You’re overreacting. But, Thomas, we_ do _need to get a move on, or the dragon is going to get us, and then Anxiety might actually be proven right,_ Logic said.

 _I can’t,_ Thomas said, leaning his weight onto the palms of his hands and shuddering. _I can’t—my legs aren’t—_

Agony curled itself into him. It started in his stomach and spread out, into his limbs and his throat and his head. There it beat a steady metronome behind his eyes, shredding his thoughts into a senseless muddle. He could hear his sides speaking to him, their voices overlapping each others’ in their panic, but he couldn’t understand any of them. He couldn’t understand anything but the pain. He was being torn apart, he was being torn _away—_

And then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

He—

He was—

He wasn’t Thomas.

Oh, god, he wasn’t Thomas.

Anxiety hunched over his knees and swallowed the surge of sickness that threatened to overcome him. He wasn’t in Thomas’ head anymore. How was that possible? Had he been summoned into the physical world? But why now? Thomas would never force him into the physical world in a situation like this, would he? And if Anxiety was here, then where were the others?

And where was Thomas?

A low, menacing growl tore him from his thoughts, and his eyes snapped up to meet the dragon’s. Oh, shit. Oh, shit shit shit—

He tried to scramble to his feet, but he tripped over a limp, blue lump—another dragon, this one small and still. It didn’t immediately wake and jump for his throat, but it distracted Anxiety and gave the larger dragon enough time to collect itself and leap at him, slamming him into the floor with a heavy paw. Its talons formed a cage over his head and its breath blew, putrid and hot, against his face. Oh, god. He froze under it, torn between _flight_ and _fight_ and _freeze_ and _i’mgoingtodie._ His heart hammered unrepentantly against his ribcage, his blood hurtling hot and terrified through his veins.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, seriously, don’t—don’t kill me, _I_ wasn’t the one who wanted to do this,” he said, his voice strangled to his own ears. “I swear. Just let me explain.”

He wasn’t totally sure if the dragon was listening to him or not, but it _did_ ease its weight off of his chest, glancing towards the great doors at the end of the room. They were thrown open with a clatter of noise, and a band of soldiers rushed inside. He recognized the Queen’s insignia, a twisting green dragon, imprinted on their breastplates. The Royal Guard. _Oh, fucking hell._

“Bring me the Queen.” The dragon’s voice, low and angry, startled Anxiety’s attention back to its massive maw. “Quickly.”

A pair of guards split off from the group, slipping back out of the room. Anxiety heard their clanking footsteps long after they had gone, loud in the sudden silence. The guards stared at the dragon, arms folded over their chests in salute, and the dragon kept its uncanny purple eyes focused on him. It didn’t speak again—not until the guards returned with a retinue in tow, and, in the center of them all, the Queen.

She was dressed in an elaborate green gown, embroidered with strands of vivid gold and red. Her crown was finely-wrought gold, studded with jewels that Anxiety thought were probably worth more than all her guards’ weapons combined. Her hair was long and red, entwined with little golden laces. She stood a head above all of the soldiers and servants, broad-shouldered and frowning.

God, could this day get any worse?

“What did you conceive was so important that you could drag me from my chambers, beast?” the Queen asked, shouldering her way through the guards who attempted to form a wall between her and—and _Anxiety._ In what world could he have dreamed that the Queen’s guards would be afraid of _him?_

The dragon bowed its head to her, although not so far that its eyes ever left Anxiety. “I apologize, Your Majesty, but this—this _demon_ laid hands upon your Stone. It appears to have been unaffected by the Stone’s power, however. I rather thought that you would want to be made aware of the situation.”

The Queen pursed her lips, looking hard at Anxiety. His eyes darted away—anywhere, anywhere but looking straight at her, or the dragon’s toothy mouth. He stared at the ceiling, instead, his chest heaving. Quick, sharp shivers of fear made their way from his head to his heels as he waited for the Queen to speak again. Was she going to have him thrown in the dungeon? Executed?

“You thought correctly,” the Queen said, and Anxiety thought he saw the dragon’s shoulders drop with relief. “Take it to Biol for safekeeping. Tell him I’ll be along in a couple of weeks to assess it. Until then, I daresay he should keep a close eye on it, unless he wants it to harm the Stone.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The dragon scooped Anxiety up, much to his horror. He clung to its talons, eyes wide, as it lifted him to its mouth—and then shoved him inside. It kept its lips peeled back from its teeth, allowing him to breathe through the gaps between them, and he pressed himself as far away from the back of its throat as he could. Wouldn’t it be just his luck to get swallowed by a dragon?

Its mouth was dank and dark, the stench of its breath stronger than ever, and he shoved his face into his hoodie sleeves. The warm cloth did little to cut down the stink, but the familiarity of it soothed him some. The dragon strode out of the room, the guards on its heels, and as it did Anxiety could hear the Queen’s voice falling away behind him.

“And what is this, then? One of ours? I don’t recall having—”

The dragon made its way to a large balcony, and the cold night air blowing through its teeth was a mercy. Anxiety gulped greedily at the breeze as the dragon launched itself into the air, and he refused to look down. He wasn’t afraid of heights. He _wasn’t._

But maybe he was a little (i.e. a lot) afraid of falling.

When it had settled into a steady glide, the dragon spit him back into its talons and clutched him to its breast. He huddled there, the breeze nipping at his spit-soaked jacket, and stared resolutely at the moon. He wanted to question the dragon, but what if that annoyed it? What if it just decided to drop him? Or eat him?

No. It wasn’t worth it.

Only, he really, _really_ wished he knew what had happened to Thomas and the other sides. They annoyed the shit out of him most of the time, yeah, but they _were_ his—his—well. They were his. He hadn’t seen them in the room after he’d been torn from Thomas’ head, so he at least had the comfort of ignorance. If he hadn’t seen them die, they couldn’t be dead. They probably were anyway, but he wasn’t going to think about that. Besides, if Thomas were dead, then Anxiety would be dead, too. Right?

The thoughts plagued him as they flew, farther and farther from the castle, until he saw something on the edge of the horizon—the crown of a tower, and it grew taller as they got closer, until at last he could see the whole of it. It was a massive structure, stretching easily a few thousand feet up into the air. The bulk of it was a black mass where the stars and the moon were blotted out,  and he felt dwarfed by it even from his place held precariously in the sky.

Naturally, the first thing he thought of when he saw it was how many horrible deaths could possibly occur if he was placed on top of or inside of it. For starters, he could fall— _splat,_ dead. If the Queen wanted his death to be more creative, perhaps she would lock him in the top of it and let him starve. Or perhaps the tower was in fact a massive dungeon, and he was to be tortured.

He swallowed hard enough to hear his throat click, and he clung more tightly to the dragon’s talons as it landed outside of the tower. A large door, at least ten times the size of the dragon, was embedded in the thick stone walls. The dragon sat before it and lifted its head, calling, “Biol? Biol, I have orders from Her Majesty the Queen.”

 _Who’s Biol?_ The thought pressed urgently into Anxiety’s mind. Biol was the name of the blue moon, but he doubted that that was who the dragon was calling to. He didn’t have long to worry about it, though. He heard the rasp of movement inside the tower—large, heavy movement—and then the door was shoved open. An enormous blue head jutted from the darkness within the tower, and Anxiety’s stomach dropped.

_Holy shit._

It was a dragon—or, at least, it _looked_ like a dragon—but it was a hundred times bigger than any dragon he’d ever seen. Tendrils drooped from its muzzle, a pair of heavy antler-like horns sat upon its head, and thick white fur carved a trail from the base of its neck and down its back, presumably all the way to its tail-tip, which was still tucked away inside the tower. Its eyes gleamed malevolently as it saw the fighting dragon, miniature by comparison, in front of it.

 _A great dragon,_ his mind supplied, shock settling hard and fast into his stomach.

“What orders?” the great dragon asked, its voice reverberating in Anxiety’s chest, and he crammed himself back against the fighting dragon’s paws. He was quite willing to be stuffed back into its mouth, if only for the meager safety that would offer from this—this monster.

The fighting dragon lowered him to the ground in cupped paws, setting him before the great dragon. “The Queen orders you to watch over this. She desires to investigate its magical abilities within the next few weeks. Until then, be careful not to let it escape—lest you wish that it cause the Stone’s demise.”

The great dragon—Biol? God, was that Biol?—tipped its head to examine him with one vast, dark eye. “The Queen believes that this human could harm the Stone?”

“It is not a human. We are not certain what it is, although it is probably a demon of some sort. It touched the Stone and was unaffected by its curse. I beg you to take all possible precautions, as we are unaware of what else it can do.”

“Very well.” Biol reached forward and closed its talons around Anxiety, who stood frozen and petrified under its gaze. “Tell the Queen that I shall ensure it does not escape.”

The fighting dragon bobbed its head and spread its wings, leaping into the sky as Biol drew Anxiety into the tower. It nudged the door shut with its free paw, flipping a series of locks with its nose—a pointless precaution; it wasn’t as though Anxiety could ever be strong enough to open the giant door, locks or not—before it set him on the ground. He stood as still as he possibly could, torn between racing to slam himself into the safety of a corner and hoping that maybe, if he was quiet and obedient and good, Biol would leave him alone.

No such luck.

“What is your name?” Biol asked, looping its immense body around the front room of the tower—and around him.

What should he tell it? His real name? (No—no, that’s—no.) But he couldn’t just call himself Anxiety, could he? That was a stupid name. He knew that better than anyone. Biol would probably just think Anxiety was making fun of it, if he told it that that was his name. Who names somebody Anxiety, after all? He couldn’t call himself Thomas, though, because he wasn’t. Not really. Not alone.

“I—” Anxiety hesitated, sweat prickling on the back of his neck. What was his name? What was his goddamn name? “I, uh—”

“Well, it does not matter that much.” Biol sighed, dropping its head to rest on its paws. “Pray do not get so worked up about it. What matters more is _what_ you are. I do not think you are a demon. I have met a few, and you are not like them at all. So, then. What are you, really?”

That wasn’t any less complicated. “I’m a side,” Anxiety finally managed, wavering uncertainly on his feet—should he stay standing or sit down? And if he sat, where? Would Biol get angry if he moved? And, more importantly, was that the right answer to its question?

“A side?” Biol’s eyes glittered. “I have never heard of that, and I have heard of almost everything. What is a side?”

Anxiety shifted his weight from foot to foot, rubbing the inside of his hoodie sleeve. There was a soft patch there, familiar and safe, from where he’d done the same thing many times before. “It’s—it’s a part of something.”

“A part of what?”

“A human.”

“You’re a part of a human?”

“Yeah—or, well, I guess. That’s the best way I can explain it.”

“What part?”

“Huh?” Anxiety tore his gaze from the ground to meet Biol’s gaze briefly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what part of the human are you?”

“Oh.” Anxiety frowned, hunching his shoulders. “The bad part.”

“Well, at least you are honest.” Biol yawned, and Anxiety shuddered to look at its teeth—each tooth was longer than him, and the canines almost twice his height. “My apologies. You have caught me sleeping, and I intend to continue doing so now. You may sleep here, or you may go where you like. Only be sure that you do not get too close, or I may accidentally roll over and crush you.”

That was reason enough for Anxiety to swallow some of his fear and scramble over the thinnest part of Biol’s tail—although even that part was still bigger around than he was. An open doorway sat on the other side of the room, leading to an enormous flight of stairs, and Biol watched placidly as he began to scramble up them. He was more than relieved once he was out of its sight.

He ducked into the first room he found and curled into the farthest corner, finally allowing himself to wallow in his fear. He pulled his hood up over his head and breathed into the sweat-dampened fabric of his sleeves. Tremors wormed their way across his shoulders and down his back, laced with terror. What was he going to do? Was he going to die? Was Biol going to eat him? Or, worse, would it allow the Queen to take him and—and torture him?

And, most importantly, how was he going to get back to Thomas and the others?


	2. Up Up Up The Chimney

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: beginning of a panic attack, hunting  
> chapter title is from the song up “up up the chimney” from the little inferno soundtrack

Fear kept him up long into the night. He could hear Biol shuffling around on the floor beneath him, and worry about his uncertain future—and the uncertain whereabouts of Thomas and the other sides—didn’t make for a restful evening. Eventually, though, he did slip into an exhausted half-sleep.

It was just as terrifying as being awake. 

He jolted up in the bleak, gray predawn hours with images of the other sides torn apart by dragons’ teeth pasted into his mind, and they refused to leave him. Horror was a hot, suffocating thing in his throat, and he could feel the edges of an attack creeping up on him. He threw himself out—out into the space around him, where ordinarily he could feel the hum of the other sides’ and Thomas’ thoughts, with which he could distract and comfort himself.

But it was empty, and he was alone.

He had never been alone before. Cast aside, maybe, ignored and scorned, but never  _ alone.  _ He had always been a part of something—a part of Thomas. He had always been irrevocably linked to the other sides, and to their original. The steady thrum of purpose, of optimism and pride and curiosity, were usually enough to soothe him back from the edge, even if sometimes he didn’t  _ want  _ to be soothed.

Now they were gone, and he was fear, and he was alone with himself.

He buried his head into his arms and shuddered out breath after breath, his stomach twisting and curling around itself. His heart tapped out an unsteady, too-fast tempo in his chest, and sweat sprang up along his palms and the back of his neck. Fine tremors gripped his hands and shoulders, and his thoughts felt threatening—too quick and too sharp and too  _ much. _

He wasn’t going to have a panic attack. He  _ wasn’t. _

(But his heart didn’t stop pounding, and his stomach didn’t stop turning, and he was going to go fucking  _ crazy  _ without the others to hold him in place.)

A solid half-hour later he forced himself onto his feet, shaky though they were, and took a deep breath. It wasn’t an attack—not really. It was just the edge of one. A brush up against the near future. A nuzzle from the malevolent, terrible sickness that lived in his head and would be waking up far too soon if he didn’t find Thomas and the other sides.

Eager to distract himself from his thoughts, lest they drag him back towards that awful place of terror, Anxiety steeled himself and returned to the front room. He could smell roasting meat, and if he could get breakfast  _ and  _ answers from Biol, his morning won’t have been entirely wasted.

But what were the chances of  _ him  _ doing something successfully?

“Good morning,” Biol said, when it saw him hovering in the doorway. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah.” Not at all, but he wasn’t going to tick Biol off by telling it that. “Um, I was wondering—I mean you don’t have to, obviously, but if you wanted to, if it wasn’t too much to ask, would you mind answering a few questions?”

“I suppose that depends on what they are. Here, sit. Eat something and we can talk.” Biol indicated a small cabinet near the side of the room, in which Anxiety found several human-sized dishes and utensils. “Take whatever you would like from the pot. It is only stewed venison, and I have not had a bite yet, so it is perfectly sanitary.”

Anxiety had to stand on one of Biol’s talons (ugh) to reach the top of the giant pot, and it was a messy procedure to fill his bowl. Eventually he decided simply to dunk the bowl into the stew and let the excess drip off before carrying it to the other side of the room and allowing Biol to dip its entire muzzle into the pot.

“So: questions.” Biol fixed him with a curious glance. “Go ahead.”

Anxiety poked half-heartedly at his stew. He knew he should eat, but if he had an attack he would get nauseous and—and no, don’t think like that. Dad would tell him he was being self-sabotaging, and he would scoff. (But it would help.) “Well, I guess, um—first of all, who are you? You’re the Queen’s great dragon, right?”

“So I am. My name is Biol, and I am a servant of Her Majesty the Queen. Now I shall ask you a question. It is only fair.”

Anxiety inclined his head, although his stomach twisted uncomfortably at the idea. He had an unfair sort of loathing for questions—especially personal ones. Hopefully Biol wasn’t talking about those kinds, though. 

“Did you really touch the Queen’s Stone?” Biol asked, cocking its head. That was better than a question like, say,  _ why are you scared of everything,  _ but he was still hesitant to answer it. After all, Biol was a servant of the Queen, and it could report everything Anxiety said back to her—including his own admission of guilt. 

But then he thought about the Queen, and the state of her laws, and he thought that it wasn’t very likely he’d be given a trial, anyway. So what did his admission matter, when the Queen had clearly already decided that he was guilty? “I—well,  _ I  _ didn’t. Thomas did. That’s the human I’m a part of.”

“Ah. Alright. It is your turn, then.”

“Do you know where the other sides—the other parts of Thomas went?”

“I do not. Why did you touch the Stone?”

Anxiety stirred his stew, watching as the lumps of meat bobbed and dipped unappetizingly under his spoon. “They—Thomas and the other sides—wanted to get rid of the Queen’s power. They thought that the easiest way to do that would be to get rid of her Stone. You mentioned that the Stone was cursed, so what  _ is  _ the curse?”

“It is a preventive measure. While most creatures can be dissuaded from nearing the Stone by the presence of draconic guards, more wily creatures—like humans—might be intelligent enough to get close to it. To keep them from harming the Stone, the Queen cursed it. Anyone who touches it will be turned into the creature they hate most. Did you want to harm the Stone?”

“They wanted to crack it,” Anxiety said, “so it would lose its power.  _ I _ wanted to leave it alone and never think about it again. So what’s going to happen to me now?”

“I do not know. The Queen will come to assess your magical ability. If you prove useful enough, perhaps she will keep you alive. If you do not, I presume she will have you killed.” 

“But I don’t  _ have  _ any magical abilities. I’m just a human—er, a part of a human.”

“If you were just a human, you would not be speaking with me now,” Biol said, flicking its tail. “You would be running amuck in the wild as some wretched, cursed thing. Now, come along. My curiosity has been satisfied, but feel free to continue asking questions. Only, I am going to wash off. You might come outside with me, if you wish.”

Anxiety, eager for any glimpse of the outside world, sprang up and followed the dragon. It splashed into a large river beside the tower, rinsing the remnants of stew from its muzzle and neck and sighing happily. He crouched a good distance from the banks as it did so, drawing aimless pictures in the wet mud with his finger and thinking.

The fresh air did wonders to clear his head, although he kept throwing nervous glances back at the forest behind the tower. What if there were ogres there, or trolls, or feral dragons? Not that Biol couldn’t fight them, of course, only—what if Anxiety were accidently stepped on in the process? That would be remarkably unpleasant.

What was  _ more  _ unpleasant, however, was still being ignorant of the whereabouts of Thomas and the other sides. He had thought that surely Biol would know (and maybe it did but was lying) and he wasn’t certain about what he could do to find them now. Could he escape? Not from a great dragon—ridiculous to even think it.

His thoughts carried him in pointless circles. He couldn’t run away, he couldn’t hide, he couldn’t fight. So what  _ could  _ he do? Curl up in a corner and sleep the remainder of his life away, sure, but then—then what would happen to his friends? To Thomas? They needed him to find them. What if they were in trouble?

If it was anyone’s responsibility to save them, it was his. He was  _ Anxiety.  _ He was in charge of keeping them safe, so really, this was all his fault. If he had just tried a little harder to keep them from going through with their stupid plan to crack the Stone—if he had just argued a little more with Prince, or been more insistent with Thomas—

God, he couldn’t even do his one job right.

“Would you like to go back inside, or would you like to remain here? It is quite nice out today,” Biol said, stretching itself out along the riverbank. 

Anxiety swallowed—what was the right answer? If he said inside, it could make Biol unhappy with him, since it appeared content to remain outdoors, sunning itself. If he said outside, though, perhaps it would make Biol think he was trying to escape. He finally went with the safest answer he could, saying, “Whatever you want to do.”

Biol wanted to stay outside, and so they did. The sun arched high about them, gleaming hard off of Biol’s blue scales and throwing its enormous shadow onto the dead grass beneath them. The cold wind bit through Anxiety’s hoodie, and he hunched his shoulders and shivered until Biol cupped a wing over him. 

“It would not do for my charge to freeze before the Queen can see to you,” it said, and Anxiety sat tensely for a good hour, until at last he adjusted to the strange membrane trapping him in next to Biol. 

Then, after gathering what little courage he had, he asked, “Why do you serve the Queen?” He resolutely ignored the way the question made his heart flip in his chest. What if it made Biol angry, what if it snapped at him, what if—

“Because she has the Stone,” Biol said, simply. “Is that not why we all do it?”

“Yeah,” Anxiety said, propping his chin in his hand and letting his eyes focus on a withered blade of grass. “I guess so.”

Biol fell silent for a long while, and Anxiety followed suit. The day dragged on, cold and bright, and energy hummed continuously through Anxiety’s veins. Shouldn’t he be doing something? Planning or escaping or  _ something  _ besides sitting around and waiting for his doom to befall him? But he couldn’t think of anything to do, so he did the next best thing—he thought of what the others would do.

Prince would be fighting Biol—charging into the maw of a dragon to save the kingdom  _ was  _ kinda his thing. Logic would be coming up with an incredible plan. It would probably involve several algorithms and confusing logistics, but it would certainly get them out of this tower. Dad would be making friends with Biol. Hell, he would probably woo Biol into fighting for  _ them  _ instead of the Queen.

And Thomas—well. Thomas would do a clever combination of the three.

Anxiety really had nothing to do with charades like this. He was more of a side-seat driver—he could point out everything the others were doing wrong, but rarely did he have a better idea, and coming up with one was proving to be extremely difficult. 

He was almost grateful for the distraction from his own inadequacy when Biol stood, shaking itself off and saying, “Well, I am quite warm now. I am going to hunt before the sun falls, and I am afraid I must ask you to go with me. I would allow you to remain in the tower, but it can only be locked from the inside, and I daresay I do not trust you to stay put, even as obedient as you have been thus far.”

So Anxiety, stiff with fear, allowed himself to be picked up and placed on Biol’s back. He settled into the hollow at the end of the dragon’s neck, grateful for the warm fur there, and clung on as Biol threw itself into the air. He kept his eyes focused on his fingers, knotted tightly around strands of Biol’s mane, as the breeze rushed around him and yanked mercilessly at his hair and jacket. 

It wasn’t quite as bad as being carried in the fighting dragon’s talons—actually, it felt far safer on Biol’s broad back—but it was still absolutely terrible. Images of a thousand different ways he could die flashed through his head. He squeezed his eyes shut and saw each one, gulping in breaths of the cold air and trying not to freak out.

“Are you quite comfortable?” Biol asked, once it had leveled out in the air. 

Anxiety didn’t respond. He didn’t think that Biol could hear him over the breeze, even if he tried, and he couldn’t divert enough energy from fearing to formulate an adequate lie. Instead, he huddled closer to Biol’s back and breathed—in, out, in, out—and the dragon didn’t question him again.

Luckily, their flight was much shorter than the one Anxiety and the fighting dragon had taken from the castle. Biol made a few quick dives (these jolted Anxiety’s heart into his throat so quickly that he thought he would choke on it) to snatch up its prey from the herds of deer in the forest. Once it had five or six clutched in his talons, it wheeled around and Anxiety was relieved to see the tower moving back towards them.

Biol landed heavily on its hind feet, balancing carefully until it had set down its catch. Then it dropped onto all fours and reached around, scooping Anxiety off of its back and placing him beside the slaughtered deer. “There, now,” it said, sounding satisfied and snaking its tongue out to taste the air. “That was a lovely hunt.”

Anxiety disagreed wholeheartedly, but could do nothing more than stagger off to the side and sit down, curling into himself until the vice around his heart eased and he could breathe. He watched nervously at Biol went about skinning the deer, hanging their pelts to dry and salting the meat. “It will go into the cellar,” it told him, with the air of a teacher educating a prize pupil—an air that reminded him painfully of Logic. “It will make a fine stew in a few weeks.”

It retrieved several dried carcass from its cellar, under the tower, exchanging them for the freshly-salted carcasses. Then, in the last dregs of sunlight, it carved the dry meat from the bones of the deer, dropping it into the large black pot inside of the tower to cook. Anxiety sat outside as it went about its evening routine, watching as the moon rose off of the horizon. It cast cold, pale blue light over everything, and Biol sat back on its haunches to stare at it when it had finished simmering the stew. 

“It is a beautiful night,” it said, glancing back at Anxiety.

“Yeah,” Anxiety said, reluctant to disagree. Curiosity gnawed at him, along with the pressure to make conversation, so he added, “The moon—you’re named after it, right?”

The side of Biol’s mouth pulled up in something absurdly like a smile. “So I am. I suppose you can surmise why?”

Anxiety raked an eye over it—shining blue scales and white fur—and then glanced back at the moon. The colors were remarkably similar, although Biol the dragon was a darker blue than Biol the moon. “I can.”

“So,” Biol said conversationally, settling down in front of him. “Do you feel like telling me  _ your  _ name today? I do not mind if you do not want to, of course.”

Anxiety stared at the moon, his breath held cold and still in his lungs. “Anxiety,” he said, finally. “My name is Anxiety.”

“Ah.” Biol was quiet for a long moment, and regret boiled unhappily in Anxiety’s gut. “Well, it could be worse.”

And while that wasn’t  _ exactly  _ what Anxiety wanted to hear, it wasn’t soul-crushing, either. His shoulders relaxed, and he let his chin dip towards his chest. They sat quietly as the last streaks of sunlight faded from the sky, their breath clouding in the air, and Anxiety thought that maybe, just maybe, he could copy one of the other sides. Just this once.

While he couldn’t fight Biol, or escape from the tower, perhaps he could take a page from Dad’s book and make friends. Not that he was good at making friends—not at all. Only, for once, it seemed like the easiest option at hand. So he had to try. If not for himself, for Thomas and the other sides. He had to find them. Not, of course, that anyone—especially a great dragon—would want to make friends with  _ him. _

But it could be worse.


	3. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: panic attack, mentions of death
> 
> chapter title is from the song “lost” from the thomas is alone soundtrack

“Anxiety, bring me another bag of salt, would you?” Biol asked, stringing up a few more deer carcasses, courtesy of today’s hunt.

“‘kay,” Anxiety said, ducking into the cellar. Bags of salt and barrels of dried meat lined the walls, the stores fleshed out with sacks of grain and dried fruits. He grabbed one of the large salt bags and threw it over his shoulder. He had just started to move back towards the door when movement caught his eye.

A rat crouched next to one of the grain sacks, nibbling greedily on a corner and staring at him. Anxiety kicked at it and it scurried back out of the cellar, throwing him an offended look before disappearing back into the grass at the edge of the woods. Wrinkling his nose, he made sure the cellar door was firmly shut before he returned to Biol.

“There are rats in the cellar,” he announced, setting the salt down in front of the drying racks.

“Rats?” Biol shot him a curious glance, slicing open the top of the salt bag with one of its talons. “I haven’t had rats in years. They usually don’t come around until spring.”

“Does that mean spring is coming?” Anxiety said. Glancing at the dim silhouette of the blue moon in the evening sky, he was unconvinced. “I thought there would be two moons when spring came.”

“You thought?” Biol said, eyes widening. “Why, have you never seen another moon?”

“No. At least, not that I remember. It’s always been winter.”

Biol’s tail lashed in something like distress and it crouched before Anxiety, the salt and drying meat forgotten. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“So young,” Biol said, evidently dumbfounded. “It had not occurred to me—but yes, I suppose it has been winter for several hundred years now.”

“Several _hundred?”_ Anxiety gaped at it. He couldn’t fathom a hundred years, let alone several. “Seriously?”

“Yes, it has been winter since Hethe—” It paused, turning an expectant eye to Anxiety and sighing when no recognition flashed across his features. “That is the other moon. The orange one. It is the one that rises during spring and summer.”

“Oh. So it hasn’t risen in hundreds of years?”

“I suppose that is correct. Time certainly gets away from you when you live in the middle of nowhere,” Biol said, looking broodingly at its tower. “Well, no matter. Come—the meat won’t salt itself.”

Later that night, Anxiety settled himself into his spot on Biol’s haunch—a spot he had had to choke down massive amounts of fear to obtain—to see out of the window. Another day passed successfully. No Queen, no magical assessment, no impending execution—

No Thomas, no Prince, no Logic, no Dad.

The weeks had passed slowly, each bleeding into the next, as Anxiety chipped away at his meager plan to make friends with Biol. He couldn’t quite tell if it had worked, or if the dragon was simply polite by nature, but it was the best chance he had. He couldn’t help but worry, though. He’d heard nothing about Thomas or the other sides in what felt like forever. It was, in reality, a mere three weeks—but it felt like endlessly more. After being with them constantly for—well, for his entire life—being separated so totally and abruptly from them was horrible.

He never thought he’d actually _miss_ Prince’s stupid, backhanded insults, but god help him, he did. He missed the insults, and the degrading, and hell, even the scorn. He’d take it all back just to have them with him—just to feel complete. The emptiness in his head was startling and uncomfortable and, on bad nights, almost unbearable.

On good days—bright days, hopeful days, few and far between—he wondered if they might all be alright, and longing for him in the same way he longed for them. Unlikely, seeing as they loathed him, but the thought of it gave him some comfort. What if they were out there, looking for him? What if they were planning—and god, when they were together, what magnificent (terrifying) plans they could come up with—to rescue him?

“What is the matter?” Biol asked. “You are almost smiling.”

Anxiety snorted. “That bad, huh?”

“It would appear so.”

“I was just—I wonder if they’re okay, you know? I wonder what they’re doing.” He rested his head on his knees, sighing. “I never thought I’d say this, but I actually miss them.”

“It must be an odd thing,” Biol said, “to be only a part. I cannot fathom it.”

“It’s not normally so bad. When we’re together, I guess—I guess I kind of feel like a whole? I’ve never noticed how—how not-whole I was until they disappeared.”

Biol hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I can understand something like that.”

“Can you? I didn’t think you had any friends.” Upon seeing Biol’s arched eyebrow, Anxiety felt his face heat and immediately fumbled to apologize. “I mean—I mean, uh, not like that. I mean, of course you have friends. Just, they aren’t really around, so I thought—”

Biol chucked, its body rumbling with the force of it. “It is quite alright. I do not have many friends, you are correct. But I did once—in fact, I even had a mate, believe it or not.” Anxiety couldn’t mask the surprise on his face, and Biol mimed offence. “Why, but it is not _that_ difficult to believe.”

“No, no, sorry, I just—”

“Ah, I was joking. You worry too much.”

“Yeah. I get that a lot.”

Biol stretched, its talons clicking against the floor. “My mate was named after the warm season’s moon—Hethe. They were incredible.”

“So what happened?” Anxiety asked, then caught himself and backpedaled. “Not that you have to tell me—I mean, it’s totally fine if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“No, that is alright. It has been some time since I had someone to listen to these old stories. Hethe, they—well, they died, a very long time ago. But they were quite marvelous in their time. Their jokes were so abhorrent that they were almost good.”

The side of Anxiety’s mouth quirked up, Dad’s voice flashing through his head. _Why do flamingos sleep with one leg up? ‘cause if they slept with both legs up, they’d fall over!_ “Yeah, I know somebody like that.”

“And we even produced eggs together,” Biol said, and paused expectantly. Anxiety stared blankly at it and it sighed. “That is very impressive, for many dragons.”

“Oh.” Anxiety made a face that he hoped looked impressed. “That’s cool. But I thought that—no offense—dragons had eggs all the time? That’s why the Queen has so many of them, right?”

“Well, street dragons and fighting dragons do, perhaps,” Biol said. “Great dragons, as I am and Hethe was, reproduce asexually. It is the mark of a very content dragon to be able to produce even a single egg—although, of course, one did not _have_ to have an egg to be content, but one did have to be content to have an egg. And we had _two._ ”

“Oh, well, then. Congratulations?”

“Thank you.”

“But I don’t really get it. If you reproduce asexually, then why do you need mates?”

“It is quite difficult to raise a hatchling alone. Most times they are very needy and wily creatures. We usually do it in groups of two or more,” Biol said. “It ensures that the hatchling will be adequately cared for, even if its progenitor dies.”

“That’s cool. So what were your hatchlings like?”

Something—some dark, hurting thing—flickered through Biol’s eyes, and it looked away. “Well. That is another story.”

“Yeah, of course. Sorry.”

“Do not mind it. But if we are discussing personal things, would you mind telling me about what the other—what is the word? Sides? What the other sides are like? And what your human is like?”

“Oh.” Anxiety glanced back out of the window, watching the slow sway of the barren trees in the wind. “Sure, I guess.”

“You do not have to, if you do not wish it.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just—I’ve never really talked to anybody else about them, before. I guess that’s because the only people I ever really talked to before now _were_ them.” A little conniving, maybe, to try and tug on Biol’s heartstrings to win its friendship—but Anxiety was all too willing to play the manipulative bastard if it meant he got to live and find Thomas and the others.

“Are you very close?” Biol asked.

Anxiety shrugged. “Eh. The others are—at least, I guess they are. They always seem to like being around each other, even if they argue a lot. They don’t like me so much, but that’s understandable.”

“Why is it understandable?”

“‘cause I’m the bad guy,” Anxiety said. “I’m the one who points out all the holes in their plans and keeps them from running off and getting Thomas killed—or worse, embarrassed. But none of them like that very much.”

“Well, that does not seem reasonable. It seems as though you are merely looking out for their best interests.”

Anxiety scoffed. “Yeah, right. I’m just the one who ruins all of their fun and keeps holding Thomas back.”

“But I thought you were keeping Thomas safe?”

“Yeah, well, keeping Thomas happy and keeping Thomas safe are two priorities that don’t seem to ever line up.” He sighed, plucking at the hole that was forming in the knee of his jeans. Wearing the same thing day in and day out (Biol, for all its provisions, did not have spare clothing) and washing his clothing in the river was really taking its toll. Without the infinite expanse of the mindscape, he couldn’t manipulate his physical form—clothing included—either.

He tried hard not to think about what that limitation meant for him if he were injured outside of the mindscape.

“If you are so terrible, then what are the others like?”

“There’s Logic—he’s, well, he’s Thomas’ rational side. He likes planning and researching and understanding things. He’s the least ridiculous side, although even _he_ comes up with some dangerous plans sometimes. Dad—that’s what we call Morality—is Thomas’ sense of right and wrong, and his emotions and stuff. He’s a big sap, and he’s always telling terrible jokes. Then there’s Princey. He’s Thomas’ creativity and hopes and stuff, but honestly, he’s kind of a moron. He always wants to go haring off after these impossible, grandiose dreams.”

“Like breaking the Queen’s Stone, stealing all of her power, and freeing the entire kingdom from a rule that’s lasted well over five centuries?”

“Yeah,” Anxiety said. “Like that.”

“And Thomas?”

“Thomas is—he’s all of that combined. He’s smart and he’s kind and he’s a dreamer. He also has a penchant for getting himself into trouble.” Anxiety flicked his eyes towards Biol’s. “I’m overworked.”

Biol laughed. “It would seem so. What kind of trouble?”

Anxiety went on to regale it with the many, _many_ stories of the times Thomas had gotten into trouble as a result of the others sides’ prompting. Biol was an attentive listener, asking questions at all the right points but never pressing for an answer Anxiety didn’t want to give. When Anxiety’s voice was raw and rough from speaking—he hadn’t spoken so much in what felt like _ages—_ Biol picked up the slack and told its own stories.

“And so I said to Hethe, I said, ‘Why, that is never going to work.’ And do you know what they told me? ‘Why, of course it will. Circe has looked it over.’ As though Circe knew anything about woodworking.” Biol huffed, shaking its head. “Circe was good at a great many things, but certainly nothing mechanically-oriented. I wouldn’t have trusted her to light a fire under a stew-pot, much less to build a transport carriage.”

“So what’d you do?” Anxiety asked, trying hard not to yawn or let his eyes glaze over. Biol’s stories _were_ interesting, but the night had stretched on for hours already, and he was bone-tired.

“Well, I went and had a talk with Circe about her construction. Of course, I could not just outright _say_ that it would not work to her face—she was my friend, and I would not have offended her for the world. Only sometimes it seemed as though offending her was the only way to get any point across. She was very strong-willed, you know, and quite terrible at listening to others’ opin—”

“What’s that?” Anxiety’s eyes caught a skitter of movement near the tower doorway, the hair immediately rising on the back of his neck. _Monster, demon, ghost, we’re going to die._ I’m _going to die. Alone._

Biol twisted its head around, narrowing its eyes and then laughing. “Why, it is a rat.”

“Seriously?” Anxiety slid down Biol’s leg, careful not to stumble over its talons as he made his way towards the door. A rat crouched in the shadows there, staring at Biol with understandable terror in its black, beady eyes. “Another one?”

“Perhaps spring is coming after all,” Biol said, the delight evident in its voice. “Let it remain here awhile. I am sure it can do us no harm—it is not even as big as your shoe, and you are already very small.”

Anxiety grudgingly agreed, although he did convince Biol to put the lid on its stew-pot. He wasn’t certain how the rat would manage to climb up the pot to get into it, but he didn’t want to take any chances, thank you. He liked his stew sans rat germs. After making sure the lid was on tightly, he scrambled onto Biol’s back again and sprawled out on the warm fur there, eyeing the rat unhappily.

Biol fell silent, observing the animal with a great deal more joy than Anxiety felt was warranted, until at last its eyes began to flutter shut. Anxiety allowed his own eyes to close, although his thoughts gnawed at him and kept him well away from true sleep. He drifted in the twilight area between sleep and awake for some time, until he was startled into true consciousness but a sudden, jolting thought—

What if they never came for him?

What if Thomas and the other sides _were_ together, only—only they weren’t going to come for him? They didn’t want him. Of course they didn’t want him. It was like he had told Biol earlier: he was bad. If they were given the opportunity to get rid of the bad part of Thomas, then why wouldn’t they take it? Why had he ever thought that they would come for him? Why had he ever thought that he would be doing them a favor by—by trying to shove himself back into their lives?

They were better off without him.

Anxiety sat up, jamming his nose into the crook of his arm and breathing hard. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt his heart throbbing in his chest, his breath stifled and too warm in his lungs. He couldn’t breathe—he couldn’t breathe right, why couldn’t he breathe, why was he freaking out about this, why now, he’d gone almost three weeks without a single real attack, oh, god—

“Anxiety?”

He opened his eyes to see the moonlight glinting off of Biol’s irises in an eerie green flash. He swallowed, hard, and his throat felt thick and dry. “Yeah?”

“What are you doing?”

“I dunno—I don’t, I—it’s fine. I just woke up. It’s fine.” He bore his teeth in an ugly grimace of a smile, trying to reassure Biol. “Sorry.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Anxiety forced himself to unfold, setting a hand beside him. He expected his palm to touch smooth, cool scales, but it didn’t—no, it touched hot, greasy fur. He recoiled, scrambling to his feet and kicking the rat—oh, god, the _rat—_ a solid two feet down the broad expanse of Biol’s back. “What the _fuck.”_

“What? What is it?” Biol tensed beneath him, pupils dilating as it sought out the rat on its back. “Is that the rat? Did it wake you?”

Anxiety crept unsteadily up Biol’s back until he crouched in the hollow between its shoulders, his breath hissing between his teeth. _Shit, shit, shit,_ he was having _such_ a bad night. Panic swelled in his chest—an ugly, seething mass beneath his ribcage. Tremors started in his shoulders and worked down his spine until even his legs were shaking. _No, no, no, not now._

What would Biol think? It would think he was a freak. It would really, truly know what being the _bad part_ meant. (But no—no, it wouldn’t. It would have seen one of Anxiety’s attacks, but it would never have seen Anxiety attack, which was the part that people cared about, really, because that hurt Thomas.)

“Anxiety? Did it bite you? Are you hurt?” Biol twisted its head around at an uncomfortable angle, its nose hovering just feet from his elbow. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing,” Anxiety said, his voice rough and uneven—he could still talk, though, so that was something. Maybe he could pull himself back from the edge. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Biol looked unconvinced, but it pulled its head back, to Anxiety’s relief. It shivered its hide, shaking the rat off and onto the ground, where it pelted back into the shadows. “We shall find whatever hole it has gotten inside through tomorrow and stop it up,” it said, with an air of finality.

And while Anxiety was grateful for that, at least, it didn’t do anything to fix the larger problem at hand—Thomas and the sides hated him, and even if he could get back to them, why the hell would they want him? They would be better off if he just remained at the tower with Biol. Hell, they’d be better off if Biol would have eaten him that first day.

His breath came short and fast, and he suddenly felt too hot—he would have shed his hoodie immediately, if only he could have summoned up the courage to move. His whole body felt stiff and strung out with fear, though, and he could no more move than he could think clearly. He curled his fingers into his sleeves and shook and breathed and feared.

“Anxiety?” Biol’s voice again, quieter this time, grating against his thoughts like sandpaper. “I am sorry I suggested that we let the rat stay. I think it is gone now. It will—it will be alright.”

But it wouldn’t. It would never be alright—not for him.


	4. Something To Tell You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: very brief mentions of torture and execution  
> chapter title is taken from the song “something to tell you” from the little inferno soundtrack

“Anxiety?” Biol’s voice came from behind him, as quiet as a beast its size could make it. “Would you like breakfast?”

Anxiety didn’t respond, staring blankly at the wall with his shoulders hunched. His thumb ran constantly over the soft spot inside of his sleeve cuff. The thought of food made his stomach want to turn, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell Biol that. He couldn’t bring himself to do much more than sit and breathe, for fear of initiating another panic attack. Even thinking felt like a dangerous thing to do.

Biol sighed, its breath brushing against his back, and he heard it move away. Its talons clattered noisily on the ground, its tail dragging behind it, and he flinched inwardly at the noise—what he wouldn’t give for a silent, dark place, where he could suffer in the safety of his loneliness, without consideration for another person’s feelings on the matter.

Not, of course, that he had ever been able to do that before.

“Why, look at that,” Biol said. Anxiety did not look at that, but he did pry himself away from his own head just enough to listen. “It is a little street dragon outside.”

Fear shot through Anxiety’s heart, jumpstarting his thoughts back into rapid-fire activity. Another dragon? Here? At Biol’s tower? That could only mean one thing—the Queen had decided what she was going to do with him. The dragon would be her messenger. It would tell him his future. Execution? Torture?

In a strange, sick way, he was relieved. He could, at last, stop wondering and worrying. He could look his future in the eye and dread it in a more straightforward manner. On the other hand, he was utterly terrified to do that. At least if he were wondering, he might have some kind of hope. He could be stuck here in limbo with Biol, which couldn’t be as bad as what the Queen would doubtlessly dream up for him.

“I am going to go speak with them. Would you like to come?” Biol said.

Anxiety’s heart froze. To go or not to go? Should he learn his future from the street dragon, or prolong the inevitable by allowing Biol to take the message for him? But no—no, he couldn’t do that. Waiting would only allow him time to think, and thinking would send him spiraling into the black abyss of his own fear.

“Yeah,” Anxiety said, pushing himself to his feet. His legs felt stiff and wobbly underneath him, and he climbed gratefully into Biol’s talons to be set upon its back.

“Allow me to do the talking, if you would,” Biol said, as it unlocked the tower door. “I may be able to send a message back to the Queen to ease her orders, whatever they may be.”

That sent a shot of hope through Anxiety’s chest—was Biol really willing to do that for him? If so, had his plan to make friends with the beast not been in vain? Would he actually be able to escape the Queen? Not that he would have anywhere to go if he did escape, he recalled bitterly. He could live out the rest of his days alone, perhaps, but—

But that would be a fate worse than death at the hands of the Queen. He was only a part of something, and to be left shattered as he was—from his whole, from his _family,_ his _him_ —ached more than anything he had ever experienced before.

Biol strode out of the tower, and Anxiety’s thoughts were pulled back to the situation at hand. From his place on Biol’s back, he felt perfectly safe (or, well, as safe as he ever did) and even more so when he saw the size of the other dragon. It was a street dragon, as Biol had said, hardly larger than a wolf, and it wore no armor or jewelry to signify its rank. Its scales were blue, but there was a mass of pale scar tissue around its shoulders, no doubt caused by a conflict with a larger dragon—which didn’t really narrow the culprits down at all.

“Good morning,” Biol said, dipping its head. “I am Biol, servant of Her Majesty the Queen. How might I help you?”

The street dragon sat back on its haunches, fluttering its wings happily. It opened its jaws, as though to speak, and then shut them again and made a vague gesture in Anxiety’s direction.

“Yes, this is my ward, the demon that was brought to me for the crime of laying hands upon the Queen’s Stone. As you can see, he is quite well, and quite under my control. Do you require something of him?”

The street dragon nodded, frowned, and nodded some more.

“Forgive me, but can you—can you speak?” Biol asked, cocking its head. “If not, I know several forms of draconic sign language. You only need indicate which one you would prefer to converse in. Or if you do not prefer to converse at all, well, I suppose that is fine, only we must find a way to communicate your desires more efficiently, because I do not understand what you want, at all.”

Anxiety hadn’t thought that street dragons could speak—they were little more than scavengers in the cities, akin more to stray dogs than true dragons. Of course, he would put nothing beyond the Queen. What was a speaking street dragon, when compared to a great dragon like Biol? If she could have one, certainly she could have the other.

But this street dragon, it appeared, was not of the speaking sort. It paused when Biol spoke to it, tilting its head, and stared for a long moment. Then it held up a single talon in a motion that Anxiety interpreted as _wait a moment_ and trotted towards the woods. It crouched at the edge for several seconds, then returned with a stick clutched in its mouth.

Biol cast Anxiety an uncertain look, but watched as the street dragon began to clumsily trace out words in the mud beside the river. _Can’t talk._

“Oh, that is alright. Sign language, then?” Biol said.

The street dragon shook its head.

“Well, carving out the Queen’s orders seems as though it will be inefficient. Pardon me for asking, but _are_ you one of the Queen’s messengers?”

The street dragon hesitated, then shook its head again.

“Oh, then you are simply a visitor. How rude of me to make assumptions and keep you waiting outside,” Biol said. “Please, come in, come in. You have all of my hospitality.”

The street dragon followed them inside, wide-eyed and curious and not as wary as Anxiety thought it should be, given that it was in the presence of a creature who could just as easily eat it as a mouse. It even chirped cheerfully when Biol invited it to enjoy breakfast with them. Anxiety couldn’t dig up much of an appetite, but he nibbled on a piece of dried peach while the dragons slurped from the stew-pot.

Once they had eaten, the dragons went back outside to wash in the river. The street dragon splashed enthusiastically in the current, sending up sprays of foam and sheets of water to glisten on its blue scales. It caught up several fish with Biol’s help and set them aside to be eaten later before laying out next to Biol to dry off in the cold sunshine.

When Anxiety had deemed Biol sufficiently dry, he took a seat on its forearm and watched as the street dragon rolled itself around on the withered grass. Under his breath, Anxiety said, “So do you know why it’s here?”

“I do not,” Biol said, dropping its head towards Anxiety’s so as not to be overheard. “But I would not turn away a visitor. Unless it bothers you very much…?”

“No, it’s fine,” Anxiety said. Visitors were easy when they couldn’t talk and acted more like puppies than people. “Would the Queen like it, though?”

“Oh, she lets me do as I wish, so long as I continue to be subservient to her will,” Biol said, with a nonchalant flick of its tail. “A little street dragon poses no threat to her, in any case.”

Said street dragon was stretching and sighing, finally looping in on itself and turning its attention back to them. Two curious brown eyes regarded Anxiety for a long moment before turning up to look at Biol, blinking happily at it.

“It is quite nice to have visitors, surprise or not,” Biol told it, resting its head on the ground so as not to loom quite so much, “but I must wonder if you have a purpose to come here.”

The street dragon nodded, racing off to retrieve its stick and resume writing in the mud. _Anxiety,_ it spelled out, with some difficulty—the _e_ looked more like an _a,_ and the letters blurred together, but it was legible enough.

“Do you mean him?” Biol asked with some surprise, gesturing to Anxiety. The street dragon nodded earnestly. “But I thought that you were not a servant of the Queen?”

It took up the stick in its mouth again and twisted its head, making unattractive snorting sounds as it attempted to breathe and write at the same time. This sentence was longer, and it filled Anxiety’s chest with dread as it was carved out. _queen’s coming. two weeks._

“Oh, so then you _are_ a messenger?” Biol asked, narrowing its eyes. “What exactly are you about?”

_not messenger. warning._

“Then you are an enemy of the Queen.” Biol drew itself up, taking Anxiety with it. “I am not a violent creature by nature—in fact, I rather consider myself a gentleman, but to come here making blatant threats to ruin the Queen’s plans, in the very face of one of her servants—why, I cannot believe the gall of it.”

The street dragon shook its head before hurriedly scratching out another sentence. _want to help._

“You want nothing of the sort,” Biol said, flaring its wings. “You have come here to make trouble, I see, so I must ask you to take your leave of us now.”

The street dragon drew itself up, too, although it was hardly larger than one of Biol’s talons. It lifted its chin and met first Biol’s eyes, then Anxiety’s, before turning pointedly back to its work writing. Before it could even pick its stick back up, however, Biol slammed its talons into the mud and tore, destroying the clumsily carved sentences.

“You wretched fool—have you no sense?” Biol demanded, a growl bubbling beneath its words.

The street dragon frowned at it, evidently more disappointed than frightened by its behavior, and attempted to smooth out a patch of mud again.

Biol threw a look over its shoulder at Anxiety, its expression hovering somewhere between dumbfounded and exasperated. “I do not understand it,” it said, under its breath. “Perhaps I have overestimated their intelligence? But clearly they can write, so I must think that they know what they are doing.”

“Well, whatever they’re doing can hardly be a real threat, right?” Anxiety said. “They weigh—what? Ninety pounds? A hundred? You could just step on them.”

“That would be inconceivably rude.”

“Just putting out options, pal.”

“But if they know about you, they might indeed have something to do with the Queen. However, they insist they do not. I cannot fathom it. Well—well, I shall make them go away, and if the Queen would like to communicate something to me, then I daresay she can send a dragon who knows how to act properly.”

With that, Biol swiped again at the street dragon, drawing lines through the sentence it had been working on—and this time, catching the dragon itself up in its talons and bringing it towards its face. The street dragon fluttered its wings, beating them with surprise against the sudden cage of Biol’s claws and staring at him with wide eyes.

“I will tolerate no more of this,” Biol said, his voice stern. “Get yourself away from here or I shall contrive to make you. If you are the Queen’s messenger, tell her to send someone else back to me. If you are not, then simply leave and stay away from here.”

Rather than set the dragon on the ground, Biol tossed it up. It flapped frantically for a moment, odd and clumsy in the air, and then slammed back into the ground with a yelp.

“Why, can you not fly, either?” Biol cried, its voice wrenched with dismay. “I should think you a lizard, for all the knowledge you seem to have.”

The street dragon shot him a disapproving look, untangling its limbs and clambering back to its feet. It shook itself out, and Anxiety was relieved that it looked relatively unharmed. It may have been a troublesome creature, but he couldn’t wish any injury on it. It was really kind of sad and pathetic. After all, who had ever heard of a dragon who couldn’t fly?

With one last look at Anxiety and Biol—a look that Anxiety thought just a little too hungry for his tastes—the street dragon turned tail and trotted back into the forest. The shadows quickly obscured even its bright hide, and Biol relaxed and drew back into the tower.

“Well, that was certainly confusing,” it said, as it set Anxiety down. “I hope that it did not distress you too much.”

Anxiety waved it off. “It’s fine. But—but do you think it was right? Do you think that the Queen is going to be here in the next two weeks?”

“Well, I would not put much faith into what it said. There are many factions who wish to overthrow Her Majesty, and any one of them might have gotten some word of you from one of the castle guards—though it _is_ unlikely—and come here to cause trouble. I beg you not to worry about it,” Biol said.

Despite Biol’s comfort, Anxiety couldn’t manage _not_ to worry. Go figure. That evening, after dinner, he settled into his spot on Biol’s haunch to watch the moon rise, and he worried. Two weeks? It didn’t seem like long enough—not long enough by a long shot. At the same time, it was nice to have a timeframe. It was almost motivating.

Two weeks. Two weeks to escape, or to make Biol his friend. And then what? He could—well, he could hide out in one of the nearby villages and live out the rest of his days there. He wouldn’t go looking for Thomas or the other sides. They wouldn’t want him, anyway. But there was something that troubled him about that, too. Some scratch at the back of his mind that clamored to be noticed—one that he shied away from noticing time and time again.

“Biol,” he said, and the dragon’s eyes rose from the large tome curled between its paws. “The curse on the Stone, you said—you said it turned whoever touched it turned into the creature they hated most, right?”

“That is correct.”

Anxiety curled over his legs, pressing the hard lines of his ribs into his kneecaps. A long, horrible moment stretched between them before he said, his voice quiet, “Is that what happened to the others? Am _I_ what happened to the others?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Biol asked.

“I— _I’m_ what Thomas and the others hate the most. Did they turn into me?”

“Oh.” Biol looked away. “Oh, that is—I had not considered it, that you may be the result of the curse, rather than simply the survivor of it. It is—I am sorry to say it may be possible.”

Anxiety dropped his head, sinking his fingers into the tangled mass of his hair and letting out a slow, shuddering breath. Of course. Of course it was possible. _He_ was the hated thing, the terrible thing, that Thomas and the other sides had been cursed to become. Why had he ever thought differently?

Because it had been easier. It had been easier to hope that they were out there, somewhere, free and safe. Easier, even, to hope that they weren’t coming for him—because at least then, they still would have _existed._ As it was now, they were as good as dead.

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked, voice cracking. “Biol, I have to get them back. Without them, I’m just—I’m just _Anxiety.”_

Biol regarded him sadly. “And that is truly so terrible?”

“It’s _awful._ I want to be—I want to be with Thomas again. With Prince, and Dad, and Logic. God, I want it more than anything. It feels like having all of your limbs torn off, only—only you’re the one who did the tearing,” Anxiety said, tugging at his hair. “I hate it. I _hate_ it.”

“Oh, Anxiety. Would that I could help you, but I truly know nothing of magic—dragons do not dabble with it,” Biol said, then added grimly, “Or, most of us do not. It twists our minds. I—I would propose an idea to you, however.”

Anxiety lifted his head, looking miserably at Biol. “What?”

“You are already cursed. Therefore, if there—” Biol glanced around them warily, lowering its voice. “If there were anyone who _could_ steal the Queen’s Stone, it would be you.”

“What are you saying?” Anxiety stiffened, his eyes widening. “Biol? You’re the Queen’s servant, you—”

“I am no servant,” Biol hissed, its eyes narrowing to dark blue slits. “I am but a slave. I have tolerated it for hundreds of years now, but now—now, with you, I have a chance to usurp her. Of course, there will be benefits for you, too. The Queen has a great magician in her court who would no doubt serve us, if we overthrew her. She could reverse the curse. She could get your friends back. She could make you whole again.”

It sounded almost too good to be true—and that was what made Anxiety the wariest. “This doesn’t make any sense. You’re a great dragon. Why would you have served the Queen for hundreds of years if you weren’t loyal to her?”

“Because of the _Stones,”_ Biol said, tail lashing. “Because she—damn her—has _my_ Stones sequestered away in her filthy castle. If ever I make a move to retrieve them, I daresay she will have them destroyed by the very dragons that guard them, just to spite me.”

“Stones? As in more than one Stone?”

“Oh, yes, there are three—and I suppose you did not know _that,_ either. No one does. It is her grand little secret.” Biol clicked its talons on the floor, agitated. “She hoards secrets like a jealous dragon hoards gold.”

“And the Stones belong to _you?”_

“Of course they belong to me. I am the reason they are so powerful in the first place. I am the reason she can rule this damned kingdom at all. Without me, it would have crumbled hundreds of years ago. Without me, it would crumble today.”

“And that’s what you want.”

“Not at all. I want what your Thomas wanted—to overthrow the Queen and free the kingdom. Her tyranny has gone on long enough. The people suffer under her command. She is a selfish, vain thing, and I would sooner have anarchy than her as a ruler,” Biol said, its sentiments painfully similar to what Prince’s had been. “However, I suppose that I will obtain rule of the kingdom, once she is gone—at least until we may set up some form of democracy.”

Anxiety stared at Biol, stunned. He had wanted it to propose some sort of scheme to free him, but—but overthrowing the kingdom? That was a little more than he thought was really warranted. And, more to the point, it was _dangerous._ “And how are you going to overthrow the Queen without getting us killed?”

“Easy,” Biol said. “You shall sneak inside the castle, as you did before, and steal the Stones. Once they are in my possession, I will be able to deal with any possible trouble that might present itself. Such is the power of the Stones. Such is _my_ power.”

Anxiety hunched back into himself, staring hard at the window. Biol let him sit silently for a long while, breathing and thinking and fearing and—and hoping. “And the magician could get Thomas and the others back?” Anxiety asked, finally.

“I would not make you a promise, but I believe that it would be possible,” Biol said. “And if she cannot, then I will do whatever I can to find you a magician who will be able to.”

Anxiety bowed his head, but really—really, his decision had been made the moment he had opened his eyes, alone, in the Queen’s treasure room. And if that moron Prince could convince him to attempt to overthrow the kingdom, than certainly Biol could. “Fine,” he said, meeting Biol’s eyes in what he hoped was a determined stare. “Let’s do it. Let’s overthrow this stupid kingdom.”


	5. The Light is On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings: mentions of violence  
> chapter title taken from the song “the light is on” by man with a horse

“Well, I am still sorry that I cannot take you farther,” Biol said, looking broodingly down upon the land as it fell away from them with each stroke of its wings. “It is no enjoyable thing, journeying from my territory to the castle on foot.”

“It’s fine. I’d rather have to walk a few miles—”

“It is almost fifty miles, mind you.”

“—than have the Queen see you flying me to the castle’s doorstep. You’re a little hard to miss, you know?”

Biol harrumphed. “Well, it is no fault of mine. I did not choose to be so big. It would be rather more convenient to be the size of a fighting dragon, I think.”

“Oh, definitely,” Anxiety said. “Blending in is always better.”

“Not that I would want to be a fighting dragon, of course. Did you know they cannot even breathe fire correctly? Oh, a mere streamer, here and there, to be sure—but their flames reach a grand total of twenty feet, at most, and that is with the larger beasts. Now, if you ever see  _ my  _ flames, you will know what they are supposed to look like, really.”

“Of course.”

“But never mind that—look, here we are.” Biol gestured at the broken line of trees that marked the edge of its territory. “I shall deposit you here, and then you will have to go on foot. I may be able to give you some salted meat, such that you might bribe a feral dragon to give you a ride, but you must be cautious about that, as they can be notoriously untrustworthy. It would be preferable that you should just stick to that river there, actually. It will take you right to the trading port near the castle.”

“Are there many towns between here and there?” Anxiety asked.

“Oh, enough. If you should need to trade around your stores, I am sure they would be willing to oblige you. In fact, do you think that I have stores enough to interest a human into trading you a pack-animal—say, a horse, or a mule?”

“I don’t need a horse or a mule,” Anxiety said, rolling his eyes. “It’s going to be two days of walking. Three, tops. Despite your incessant need to carry me everywhere, I  _ am  _ capable of moving around by myself.”

“Certainly,” Biol said, although it sounded unconvinced. “But you must be quick about it. The Queen may send someone to be sure that you are with me at any point, especially as it nears the time for her to travel here herself.”

“I’ll go as quickly as I can. Two days there, a day to break in and get your Stones and run off to hide somewhere—which, by the way, is going to be remarkably difficult with three giant, colorful monstrosities.”

“You might paint them with mud,” Biol said, wheeling around to head back towards the tower, “so that they look like ordinary rocks.”

“Ordinary rocks aren’t exactly polished and impeccably smooth.”

“Well, you cannot do anything about that. You must take great care not to crack them at all, or—”

“Or they’ll lose their power, yeah, I got it.”

“So suppose you can steal a wagon, and paint the Stones, and place them inside the wagon to move them out of the city as though they were luggage. Would that work?”

“Yeah, if I knew how to steal a wagon.”

“It cannot be  _ that  _ hard,” Biol said. “Just grab up the reins of whatever pulls it and lead it away.”

“I don’t think it’s quite that simple.”

“Well, I am sure you will come up with something. You are the problem-solver, yes?”

“Um, no. I’m the one who points out problems.  _ Logic  _ is the problem-solver.”

“That makes a great deal more sense.”

“Was that a thinly-veiled insult?”

“Oh, no. I thought it was quite an obvious insult.”

Anxiety snorted and rolled over on Biol’s back, staring at the sky as they moved through it. “Bastard.”

“You do not even  _ have  _ a parentage, so how can you insult mine? It is uncouth to—oh, but look there, over the right wing. Is that—why, now, what are  _ they  _ doing, crawling about here, and burning up my timber, no less? Did I not tell them to keep away? The very nerve. It is almost intolerable,” Biol said, banking hard and dipping towards the forest beneath them.

Anxiety scrambled to sit, clutching at Biol’s mane and peering over its shoulder. A thin tendril of smoke rose from the forest, although Anxiety could see no more than that through the thick screen of dark branches—at least, not until Biol landed, prying away trees to make a space for itself just beside whatever was smoking.

_ Then  _ Anxiety could see what had Biol so irritated. There was a small campfire crackling merrily away, and beside it, a startled-looking blue street dragon. “It again?” Anxiety asked, frowning and crawling higher up onto Biol’s neck to see better.

“And what are you doing here, praytell, after I told you so explicitly to move off?” Biol demanded, crouching in front of the street dragon. “Perhaps you were unaware, but my territory expands from the river to the very edges of this forest. I would like you to not be anywhere within it. I will forgive you this time, on the grounds that you may have misunderstood, but—”

The street dragon hopped over its campfire, eyes wide with delight, and placed its muddy forepaws upon Biol’s snout. Biol stared at it for a moment, evidently caught between shock and disgust, before it snorted and drew its head away, pawing fastidiously at its dirtied muzzle. The street dragon, unaware of the grievous crime it seemed to have committed in Biol’s eyes, chirped cheerfully at them.

“You are a right churlish raggabrash,” Biol said, glowering. “I should better break your neck than offer you a fair retreat again.”

The street dragon beamed at them, then raced back to its campfire and scooped something up in its talons. It returned rather clumsily, tottering along on its hind legs to hold up whatever it had in its forepaws. When it held them up towards Biol, Anxiety realized with horror that it was holding a snake—a live, hissing snake.

“I do not eat  _ snake,”  _ Biol said, which wasn’t exactly what Anxiety had been afraid of, but it would do. “Keep it for yourself. Perhaps if you ate better, though, you would not be so ridiculously small.”

“Eat it?” Anxiety said, crouching low on Biol’s neck. “What if it’s poisonous?”

“Snakes are not poisonous, Anxiety, they are venomous,” Biol said, as though that should have been obvious. “And anyway, eating them will do nothing to a dragon, venomous or not. Our digestive systems are not so weak as  _ that.”  _

The street dragon chirred hopefully at Anxiety, stretching the snake up towards him like some sort of—of peace offering. Anxiety shuddered and inched away, grateful for the distance that Biol’s height put between him and the snake. The animal was watching him through the cage of the street dragon’s talons, its eyes dark and uncannily cunning—planning, no doubt, how best to bite and kill him.

When neither Anxiety nor Biol accepted the proffered snake, the street dragon released it gently back onto the ground. Anxiety expected it to slither away—perhaps to turn and bite the street dragon’s wrists as a mark of its nonexistent gratitude—but it did not. It curled, instead, into an angry mass of black scales in the sunlight, and not once did it take its eyes away from them. 

“You know,” Biol said, thoughtfully, “it does look like a venomous snake. Although—do you see the blue throat, there? I have not seen a snake quite like that, although perhaps it is some subspecies of black mamba. The inside of its mouth is certainly dark enough. I should prefer it if you stayed upon my back for now, Anxiety.”

Anxiety definitely had no problems with that, although the street dragon looked rather disappointed. It trotted back to its campfire and returned, once again, with a cloth sack clutched in its mouth, which it set before Biol. The great dragon opened it with some trouble, its talons ill-suited to such delicate work, and looked with some malcontent at the fruits that spilled out.

“While I do enjoy fruit, I enjoy it far less when it is given as a bribe from someone who has, to all appearances, deliberately disobeyed my request,” it said.

“Well, if you’re not gonna eat it, I will,” Anxiety said. “Not that dried fruit and salted meat every day isn’t great, but it kinda isn’t. Pass up that apple, would you?”

Biol reached to pinch the apple awkwardly between its talons, but the street dragon snatched it up first and sprang onto Biol’s forearm. From there, it scrambled up to its shoulder, and at last onto its back, where it proudly presented Anxiety with the apple. He accepted it, although he watched its teeth warily—small it might be, but it could still bite him, and it didn’t seem very civilized to him. Sure, it could understand human speech, but its loyalties were evidently as skewed as its sense of propriety.

“If you harm him, I shall tear your wings off and skewer your head outside of my tower door,” Biol told the street dragon, frowning severely at it. “And mind your talons, there, you are getting mud in my fur.”

The street dragon sprawled out on Biol’s back, keeping its talons away from its fur and scales and watching Anxiety hopefully as he took a bite of the apple. He nodded, attempting to appease it, and said, “It’s good.”

Apparently contented with that, the street dragon relaxed, and it watched him with half-lidded eyes as he ate. Biol watched with significantly more irritation, although it made no move to dislodge the street dragon from its back—instead, once Anxiety had finished his apple, it said, “Well, I suppose I have an idea that may satisfy us all.”

“What is it?” Anxiety asked, and the street dragon’s head popped up to listen.

“Anxiety, you need an escort to the Queen’s castle, and you, little lizard, need to redeem yourself for your misconduct in my territory,” Biol said.

Anxiety arched an eyebrow at him. “You want  _ them  _ to escort me to the Queen’s castle?”

The street dragon looked equally perplexed, clicking high in its throat.

“Well, whyever not?” Biol said. “They are small, to be sure, but they are clearly a competent intruder. They may not be able to fly you anywhere, but they can certainly carry baggage, and, if you need, pull a wagon. Of course, we will have to devise some way to ensure their control, such that they do not hurt you, but overall I think the idea a reasonable one.”

“And if they  _ do  _ work for the Queen?”

“They do not, anymore, if they ever did,” Biol said, turning a critical eye to the street dragon. “They shall work for me. Are we agreed?”

The street dragon beamed at it, nodding earnestly. Biol shrugged it from its back and onto the ground, where it carefully scooped the snake into a loop around its neck—Anxiety shuddered inwardly—and chattered gleefully at it. 

Biol turned its headed and added to Anxiety, privately, “Besides, I think that probably they are not smart enough to do any real damage, no matter who they work for. The worst that can happen is they tell the Queen or one of her guards what our plan is, and that certainly will  _ not  _ happen, because they cannot fly, and anyway I am going to put so many pounds of supplies on them that they will not be able to do more than waddle along with you.”

Once the street dragon had finished gathering up its things—another sack, this one filled with various foraged roots—it climbed back onto Biol’s back to curl next to Anxiety. (But not so close that the snake was absolutely anywhere near him.) They took to the air again and were back at the tower within minutes. The street dragon had not, despite Biol’s warnings, traveled far at all in retreat.

The street dragon glanced about in awe as they led it into the tower, eyes wide and bright, although it had been there once before. It looked especially keenly at Biol’s stew-pot, its nostrils flaring, as Biol immediately set about measuring it to make a carrying-harness. It stood placidly enough, but once Biol was done, it took off, nosing about all of the rooms.

Anxiety watched it with vague amusement—who knew dragons could act so much like dogs?—until Biol requested a sack of grain and a barrel of meat to begin making its stew, as, according to it, “The wretched thing cannot possibly weigh more than  _ you,  _ Anxiety, and that is quite strange to be able to say, as you do not weigh very much at all.”

This, coming from a creature that must have weighed some forty tons, he could believe.

As Anxiety stepped out of the tower to go to the cellar and grab the ingredients for the stew, however, he found himself frozen—there, standing just in front of the doorway as though in wait, was another rat. It stared at him with definite malice in its eyes, and then it bolted past his legs and into the tower. Anxiety whirled around, torn between disgust and fury.

“Biol, it’s  _ another  _ rat,” he said.

Biol glanced from its stew-pot, huffing, and turned a great eye upon the rat, who had crammed itself into a corner. “You know, I was very delighted by your presence at first,” it told the rat, “but you are becoming quite a nuisance. Anxiety, do you know, is rat meat any good to eat?”

The street dragon came bounding down the stairs in a riot of noise, talons clacking and wings fluttering, whistling exuberantly at them. It paused when it saw them, glaring as they were at the corner, and its own eyes turned in that direction. They brightened when it saw the rat, but widened considerably when it noticed, in turn, the hungry look in Biol’s gaze.

It flung itself forward suddenly, talons outstretched, and trapped the rat between its paws. It even went so far as to begin mantling up its wings, showing teeth at Biol, who blinked in surprise and drew back.

“Why, if you want it, you may have it. It would not be more than a mouthful for me, but you need not act so rudely and possessively,” it said, flicking its tail. 

The street dragon seemed placated by that, drawing the rat protectively up to its chest and letting its wings relax. The snake around its neck jutted its head forward, and Anxiety glanced away, grimacing. He was growing into a strong dislike for rats, but that didn’t mean he wanted to see one eaten alive. When he looked back, however, the rat remained whole and unharmed, and the snake had settled back into a lazy coil.

“You do not need to be eating things like that anymore, though,” Biol said, turning back to its stew-pot. “I am making a fine stew right now, and you are quite welcome to eat with us. If only—Anxiety, the grain and meat, would you please?”

Anxiety fetched the grain and meat, handing them off to Biol, who dumped a liberal amount of both into the boiling water and stood, humming low in its throat, until both were tender. Then it dipped a ladle in—having carved one from a tree a few days into Anxiety’s stay, to preserve his sense of dignity and basic sanitation—and flicked its tongue out to taste.

“A bag of salt, perhaps,” it said to Anxiety, allowing him to taste too, “since we have a guest.”

So Anxiety brought a bag of salt, and watched as Biol dumped the entire thing into the pot and stirred. When they tasted the stew again, he had to admit it was a marked improvement, and Biol was content to serve it out for them. The street dragon curled about its bowl with great gusto, slurping heartily—it had seconds, and thirds, and fourths. It also allowed the snake to drink from its bowl, and even the rat, which kind of made Anxiety want to gag.

When they had all filled their bellies and stretched, content, upon the cool stone floor of the tower, Biol spoke up again. “Now, then. We needs must put our efforts towards creating a solid plan, so that you may leave soon, Anxiety. Here is what I propose:

“The two of you shall leave along the river. Now that you have this here lizard, Anxiety, I would not recommend obtaining a feral. You shall walk from sunrise to sunset, such that you will perhaps make the journey in a day and a half’s time. From there, you shall enter the castle however you best see fit, and steal all of the Stones. Paint them, place them in a wagon, and haul them out of the city. Send a pigeon for me—do you know how to use messenger pigeons?”

After a lengthy explanation about how to use said pigeons, Anxiety said, “I should be able to do it—if, you know, I can get into the castle. I wasn’t exactly doing it alone last time, and there’ll probably be more guards now that we’ve spooked them.”

“Well, I am sure you can do it,” Biol said with what Anxiety thought was absolutely unwarranted confidence.

“Maybe. I know where the first Stone is, but where are the other two?”

Biol traced a diagram of the castle out on a large piece of parchment, indicating the Queen’s treasure rooms. “The first is here, as you said. The second will be here, in the treasure room in the west wing. The third—well, I do not know exactly, but I would assume it is somewhere close to the Queen’s throne room.”

_ That  _ wasn’t comforting at all, but the street dragon leaned forward to peer curiously at the diagram. The snake flopped ungracefully from its neck and wound itself up on a corner of the parchment, stretching its neck out and flicking its strange black tongue. Anxiety crept surreptitiously back onto Biol’s shoulder, reluctant to be on the same plane as a potentially venomous animal.

“Is it agreeable to you?” Biol asked the street dragon.

The street dragon glanced at the snake, who bobbed its head and slithered placidly back around its neck. Then the dragon nodded, sitting back on its haunches and allowing the rat to crouch on its hind paw.

“Then it is settled. Would you like to leave tomorrow, Anxiety?” Biol said.

Anxiety almost flinched, hearing it said aloud—tomorrow? That was—that was so soon. But what good was waiting going to do? It would be detrimental, if anything. The last thing they needed was for the Queen to arrive before they had a chance to steal the Stones. So, although it terrified him, he said, “Yeah. We’ll leave when the sun comes up.”

“Good.” Biol settled back onto its belly, sighing contentedly. “Now, then, little lizard, since you are going to be our collaborator in this coup d’état, we may as well get to know you. Are you a he, or a she, or a they, or something other? Here, you might borrow my ink to write with, if you would like.”

_ He,  _ the street dragon spelled out, just as Anxiety realized with a start that he did not even know  _ Biol’s  _ pronouns. 

“Sorry, Biol, but also, what—what do you want to be called? I never asked,” Anxiety said, looking apologetically at the great dragon.

“Quite alright,” Biol said. “I am also a he. Well, and lizard, I suppose you already know our names, but I shall introduce us more properly: I am Biol and this is Anxiety. What is your name?”

The street dragon’s eyes brightened, the snake drawing tight around its throat, and it eagerly dipped its talons into Biol’s ink again. With a careful hand, it began to scrawl out shaky letters onto the parchment. Its shoulders were hunched up with focus, the tip of its tongue jutting from its mouth as each letter appeared, until finally there was a full name, and Anxiety’s heart was attempting to throw itself out of his ribcage and his stomach was churning because oh god, oh god, it couldn't possibly be—

But it was. There, written unmistakably in ink, was the street dragon’s name.

_ P-A-T-T-O-N _


	6. United We Stand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, this chapter fought me tooth and nail during editing and i'm still not satisfied with it and it just? kept getting longer? and now it's five thousand words and i'm so sorry?
> 
> warnings: (a little bit of) blood and violence  
> chapter title is from the song “united we stand” from the thomas was alone soundtrack

Anxiety sprang to his feet on Biol’s shoulder, heart thundering an uneven tempo in his chest, disbelief and hope rising up in equal measure to choke him. It couldn’t be—it couldn’t _possibly_ be. It was just a coincidence. Patton was a strange name, but dragons had strange names, it was possible that it was just—just—

Just hope, and hope was never enough.

“Patton?” Anxiety asked, trying to keep his voice calm. _Just a coincidence. It’s just a coincidence. Morality can’t be a_ dragon, _that’s ridiculous._ “Your name’s Patton?”

The street dragon nodded eagerly, edging forward to stand at Biol’s side—his tail dragged through the wet ink of his writing, smearing his name. _Patton. It can’t be, it’s not_ possible _. Stop hoping or you’ll be crushed, you goddamn idiot._

“That’s, uh—heh, that’s weird. I know a guy called Patton,” Anxiety said. The street dragon’s eyes brightened—no, no, they _didn’t._ Anxiety was just seeing what he wanted to see. That was all. That was it. “It’s nice to—to meet you.”

The street dragon’s shoulders and wings dropped, his eyes widening—Anxiety would have called the expression crestfallen, if he hadn’t known better. Pausing, the dragon clicked his talons together uncertainly, and then, in a burst of sudden energy, scrambled up Biol’s side to stand before Anxiety.

And Anxiety, choked with fear and disbelief and hope, stepped backwards.

The look in the street dragon’s eyes after that could only be described as utterly devastated—not even Anxiety’s denial could counter the raw truth of that. (And seeing that crushed expression made Anxiety’s heart hurt. Oh, god, it hurt.)

Biol, eyeing the street dragon warily, moved to place his head between them, and the look in the street dragon’s eyes changed then—a swift, sudden snap from devastation to untempered fury, and the street dragon—

The street dragon actually snarled at Biol, a rough and horrible sound rattling in the back of his throat. His spines bristled, his lips peeled back from his teeth, and he flared his wings. Biol made a surprised sound but didn’t move back, and that, evidently, was the provocation the street dragon needed. He lunged, opened his jaws, and drove his fangs into the flesh of Biol’s muzzle.

Biol definitely moved back, after that. He yelped and flung his head, one enormous paw coming up to bat the street dragon away, and Anxiety jumped forward before he could stop himself.

“Stop, stop!” he shouted, and in that moment he knew—he knew because he wasn’t shouting for the street dragon to stop biting Biol. No. That didn’t matter at all, in the face of what was about to happen—what awful, unthinkable thing was about to happen.

_Biol’s going to bring his paw down. He’s going to hook his talons under the street dragon’s tiny body and tear it away. He’s going to slam the street dragon into the ground. Those small, precious bones are going to break and crack and_ shatter _and the street dragon will be—will be—_

“Biol, stop! Don’t hurt him!” Anxiety’s voice was a shredded, panicked thing. “Let him go, give him here!”

Biol snarled—a sound infinitely louder but no more terrifying than the street dragon’s—and dropped his muzzle to his back. “Get _off,”_ he said, his voice rumbling unhappily under Anxiety’s feet.

The street dragon did not get off.

“Anxiety,” Biol hissed. “Get him off or I will.”

The threat burned a line from Anxiety’s throat to his chest and simmered there, hot and terrified. Would Biol actually hurt the street dragon after Anxiety had told him not to? _Of course he will, of course, you’ve hardly known him for three weeks, you’re_ nothing _but Patton is everything so_ stop this.

“Okay, okay—Patton, hey,” Anxiety said. The street dragon’s eyes immediately snapped to him, wide and glassy with rage and—and some foreign emotion, some heartbroken and desperate thing Anxiety couldn’t fathom. “You have to let go now. This isn’t right. You know that better than anyone else, don’t you?”

The anger in street dragon’s gaze was gentling quickly as he looked at Anxiety, being replaced with something tentative and hopeful. He unlatched his teeth from Biol’s muzzle and stepped away. Biol began to move, but Anxiety held out a warning hand. “Not yet,” he said. “He’s—he doesn’t get mad often, but when he does it’s usually better to give him a minute to think.”

Anxiety didn’t look away from the street dragon’s eyes as he spoke—and oh, god, those _eyes,_ they were soulful and brown and he _knew_ them. He’d known them for years. He’d known them from the very moment he had begun to exist. He’d seen them every time he looked in the goddamn mirror.

How could he ever have forgotten?

(Because he, self-sabotaging monster that he was, had considered it easier to disregard the facts in front of him in favor of accepting the worst possible outcome. Because he had not wanted _hope.)_

Anxiety swallowed hard, shoving those thoughts aside, and said, “You don’t like being mad, though, do you? Patton?”

The street dragon hesitated. Anxiety expected guilt to flood his eyes, but none did—evidently, he was too focused on the task at hand to feel anything that selfless. (And how strange, how terrible, that was.) His sides were heaving with breath, although he hadn’t done much strenuous activity, and every muscle stood taut beneath his hide. The snake, too, was drawn tight around his throat, its head curved back as though to strike, should Biol move again.

Oh, god, the snake, was the snake—

No. Not yet. First things first.

(But the rush of hope that slammed into his chest was exhilarating and unfamiliar and _terrifying.)_

“Let’s both calm down, okay, Pat? You’re alright. I’m alright. We’re both gonna be fine,” Anxiety said, although he hesitated. He wasn’t good at comforting, wasn’t good at any of this—but the street dragon’s head was dropping at his words, his eyes softening. “I—I know you. Patton, Morality—Dad. It’s okay. I know you.”

And he did. God, he did.

The relief that flooded the street dragon’s eyes was echoed back just as strongly in Anxiety’s chest. He moved forward, stretching his head cautiously towards Anxiety and growling—not an aggressive growl, not at all. The noise was low and soft and soothing, and Anxiety could have sworn he felt his ribs cracking under the weight of his sudden emotions.

He hesitated only a moment (what if it really _was_ a coincidence, what if he was getting his hopes up just to have them smashed, what if, what if—) before he allowed his fingers to brush against the soft, dry scales of the dragon’s nose. The dragon smiled hesitantly at him, achingly familiar and achingly strange all at once, and Anxiety’s knees buckled under him.

The dragon pressed into his arms almost immediately, a mass of warm scales and sharp spines and tiny, concerned noises. It was strange—he had rarely hugged Morality, and he had certainly never hugged a dragon, but he found himself winding his arms around the street dragon’s neck and clinging for all he was worth. Hot tears stung his eyes, and there was a lump lodging itself into his throat.

He had thought they were gone—he had thought they were _dead,_ that the curse had killed them (or forced _them_ to become _him,_ which was really the same thing, wasn’t it?) and to find Morality here, now, even if it was like this, it was—it was incredible. It was everything he could have possibly wished for. (Save, of course, for the fact that Morality was currently a dragon.)

“I can’t—I can’t believe—” Anxiety said, his tongue twisted and tumbled in on itself with shock. “You’re really here, you’re okay, you’re—”

The dragon—Morality, god, it was Morality—headbutted his chin, his horns just catching on the edge of Anxiety’s jaw, tipping his head back so that their eyes could meet again. They were the same as they had ever been, twinkling with naive humor now, despite the slitted dragon-pupils and heavy blue-scaled lids and the blood on his fangs. He made a sad, inquisitive noise when he saw Anxiety’s tears—and oh, shit, he was really crying now, wasn’t he?—and moved his nose forward to nuzzle Anxiety’s.

“Shit, sorry,” Anxiety said, struggling to keep his voice from cracking into a million irreparable pieces. “God, I thought you were”— _dead, gone, cursed, ruined—_ “captured or something.”

Morality shook his head, and the snake mimicked him, causing Anxiety’s stomach to give a slow, rolling turn. Was that—? He ducked his head, heedless for once of the threat the snake could pose, and looked hard at its eyes. He had thought that they were black, but looking more closely, they were brown.

Like Morality’s. Like his.

“So are you—Morality, is that—” Anxiety started, staring at the snake through a blurry layer of tears. It stared back at him, its tongue flicking out quite curiously, before it edged forward and bumped their noses together. “Logic. Oh, god, Logic. Hi.”

Morality chirped in what seemed to be affirmation, allowing Logic to drop from his neck and into Anxiety’s lap. There the snake coiled, flashing Anxiety a glance that dared him to make a troublesome comment, which he gladly would have, had the circumstances not been so unusual—or so relieving.

Instead, he placed a gentle hand against Logic’s side. God, he was so _small._ His body was narrow and sinuous, only slightly longer than Anxiety’s arm, but he coiled himself around Anxiety’s wrist with unprecedented strength. He settled his head in Anxiety’s palm and watched him with bright, clever eyes and something that Anxiety thought might maybe, just maybe, have been happiness.

“Forgive me for intruding on what seems to be an important moment,” Biol said, his voice as much of a whisper as a dragon (and an irritated one, at that) of his size could make it, “but what is happening, and why have I been bitten?”

Maybe he should have felt bad about that, but—but he was just too goddamn _relieved._ “Biol, these are the other sides. This is Morality, and this is Logic, and—and—”

Anxiety paused, his heart suddenly dropping. Prince. Where was Prince? Sure, they didn’t always get along, but—but—that didn’t mean he wanted the guy to disappear. Morality and Logic needed him. Thomas needed him. (And maybe, on occasion, Anxiety needed him too.)

“Morality?” Anxiety asked. “Where’s—?”

Morality sprang back to the ground with a clumsy flutter of his wings, landing next to the rat, which he had left behind in his initial jump to Biol’s side. The miserable rodent huddled hard against the floor, its eyes flashing unhappily as they met Anxiety’s, its small pink paws rubbing over each other again and again.

“Prince?” Anxiety said, voice cracking with disbelief.

Morality carefully scooped up the rat before jumping back onto Biol’s shoulder and holding it before Anxiety. The rat regarded him for a moment, holding itself— _himself—_ stiffly in Morality’s paw. Anxiety gaped at him for a long moment, attempting to reconcile the loud, obnoxious, colorful man he knew with this—this ugly animal.

“That’s Prince?” Anxiety asked, and Morality nodded, depositing the rat—Prince—into Anxiety’s palms. Prince watched him with slitted eyes, his greasy brown fur puffed out and tiny claws digging pinpricks into Anxiety’s skin. For a brief moment, relief overcame his general annoyance with Prince’s entire existence, and he clutched the rat to his chest. “Holy shit, Princey. You look ridiculous.”

He felt the warning brush of teeth against his palm but didn’t bother flinching—Prince wouldn’t hurt him. None of the other sides would. That, at least, was something he could be confident about. His point having evidently been made, however, Prince hooked his claws into Anxiety’s hoodie sleeve and clambered up it to sit on his shoulder. And (although neither of them would ever admit it, Anxiety was sure) he may have snuggled into the crook of Anxiety’s neck for just a moment.

“So these are your—your friends? The other sides of your whole?” Biol asked, swinging his head around to peer more closely at the trio of strange creatures sitting with Anxiety. “This one—Patton, you said?—is not nearly so nice as you had led me to believe.”

Anxiety tore his gaze away from the other sides for a brief moment to look at Biol. There was a series of tiny pinpricks in his muzzle where Morality had bitten him. Apparently, Morality noticed them at the same moment, because he almost immediately shrank into himself. He crouched low on Biol’s side, wings flattening to his sides. A high, remorseful whine came from his throat.

“You cannot simply be angry one moment and sorry the next,” Biol said, scowling.

“Emotions are pretty fluid,” Anxiety said. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt you, though. He was just—” Worried? No, that was in Anxiety’s realm of emotions. Scared? That, too, was Anxiety’s. Jealous?

That—that might actually be have been it, as ridiculous as it was to think.

“He was jealous, I guess,” Anxiety said.

Biol looked unimpressed by his excuse. “Jealous? Of what?”

“It’s probably my fault. I was trying to get away from him, but I was fine with being near you, and then you got between us—I don’t think it made him very happy, especially since we’re probably all feeling a little, um”— _insecure, terrified, alone—_ “weird without Thomas. He feels really terrible about it, though. He always does if we do something bad. It’s kind of annoying. Right, Morality?”

Morality ran his front paws over his muzzle, his whine breaking up into choppy whimpers. He was practically groveling, for fuck’s sake. Anxiety thought that maybe he was taking it a little too far, but Biol’s anger had faded at the display, and he now appeared only miffed.

“Well, that is no good excuse for _biting_ someone, but I suppose that I, too, would feel protective of another part of myself.” Biol paused, tilting his head as though to consider it. Anxiety wouldn’t call what Morality felt _protective—_ the other sides didn’t like him that much—but it was close enough to count, he supposed. “Now, stop your wallowing, that is quite enough. Your teeth are hardly large enough to do any real damage.”

Morality slunk back to Anxiety’s side and curled around him, tail flicking unhappily. Logic darted his head out to brush his nose against Morality’s cheek, and Morality’s eyes quickly brightened. Anxiety reached out and tentatively set a hand on Morality’s side, and when his touch was met by Morality’s smile, left it there. It wasn’t that he _needed_ to touch them, of course not, that would be stupid, but it was just—

It was nice. After three weeks of empty space in his head and at his side, it was nice to be able to feel all of them, whole and safe and healthy, even if they weren’t quite together again—not in the way they were supposed to be.

“So,” Biol said, “these are ones who we thought had simply been cursed to turn into you?”

“Yeah.” Anxiety scrubbed drying tears from his eyes and took a deep a deep breath, then gestured to each one in turn, saying, “This is Morality, this is Logic, and this is Prince. I guess the curse _did_ turn them into creatures, and not just me.”

“Fascinating.”

“I didn’t know that you had any particular hatred of snakes, though,” Anxiety said, meeting Logic’s eyes. “Actually, I thought you liked them—you had all those facts and stuff about how they help get rid of pests, right? So why are you a snake? Didn’t the curse turn people into creatures they hated?”

“In a way,” Biol said. “I suppose it is not so much the _creature_ they hate as it is what the creature represents. For example, a snake is not an evil or manipulative creature, but our society has made them out to be so, and I suppose it is that which determines what your friends have been turned into.”

“Wasn’t that kind of an important distinction to make?” Anxiety asked.

“Well, I thought it did not matter so much, if they had been turned into _you,”_ Biol said, and Anxiety winced. Of course—of course, because _him_ was just as bad as the _idea_ of him. Morality made an unhappy sound and turned his eyes towards Anxiety, but Biol spoke again before he could do anything. “This has thrown off our plans, however. I suppose you will not want to help me after all, now that you have your friends back.”

Anxiety looked up to see Biol glancing away, the fur rising on the back of his neck and his head held stiffly. “No, Biol,” Anxiety said, and he felt the dragon’s shoulder tense under him. “I don’t _want_ to help. I don’t ever want to do anything but run away.”

“Well, then, that is fine. I do not care,” Biol said, although his voice rumbled strangely. “It is your choice, after all. I am not a tyrant, to be forcing my will upon others.”

“But if I don’t help you, these guys are going to stay like this, right? And not that they’re not just adorable”—here Anxiety smirked, most pointedly at Prince—“but I’d like to have them back to normal. Maybe when that happens, we can get Thomas back, too. I don’t think he’s here because—because he can’t exist without all of us together, and we can’t be together if we’re stuck under this curse.”

At least, Anxiety really, really hoped that was why. _Or he could have been turned into some other creature, or captured by the Queen, or he could be dead—_

But no. Thomas couldn’t possibly be dead, or all of his sides would be, too. That was only logical, wasn’t it? So if he wasn’t dead, then he could still be saved—and Anxiety would save him, no matter what. Keeping Thomas safe was his job, above all else, and he was nothing if not thorough in his work.

Maybe, for once, that could be something other than a hindrance.

Now wasn’t the time to think about that, though. They had to overthrow the entire kingdom first. “Besides,” Anxiety continued, “if we run away, the Queen’ll just hunt us down. As far as I can see, whether we like it or not, you’re our best chance to get back to leading a normal life.”

Biol paused for a moment, digesting this, before he whipped his head around and beamed at them, any remaining anger or uncertainty wiped away by the fresh joy this news brought. “Well, that is quite handsome of you, I say. I am sorry to have ever doubted your resolve. Now, the snake, there—Logic, you said?—would you care to go over this diagram with me once more? Anxiety has been telling me how very clever you are, and I would greatly appreciate your input.”

Logic lifted his head, flashing Anxiety a look, and Anxiety felt his face heat. “I didn’t say anything like that,” he insisted. He hesitated before handing Logic over to Biol to be set upon the ground next to the diagram. Morality’s solid weight beside him and the warm brush of Prince’s fur against his neck soothed him enough to allow him to let go, though.

“Well, you did not say it _exactly_ like that, but it was something similiar,” Biol said, shrugging. “Now, then, Logic—do you think, if you entered in the east wing, there would be many guards? Would it be more convenient to enter from the west? Here, have some ink. You can scratch something out with your nose, perhaps. Only be sure that you do not breathe in the ink, as that would be entirely unpleasant and probably it would kill you.”

As Biol and Logic pored back over the diagram, Anxiety slid down Biol’s side. Morality followed him, and Anxiety led them to Biol’s meager library to retrieve more parchment and ink. These he set before Morality, who crouched eagerly in front of them and reached to dip all of his talons into the ink, splattering Anxiety’s shirt and his own scales.

“So what happened to you guys?” Anxiety asked, and Morality bent to write. As he did so, Anxiety allowed himself to look more closely at the other side’s new body—it was fascinating. For all intents and purposes, he looked the same as any other street dragon. Where Biol had antler-like horns, Morality had two stubby goat-horns, and he also lacked Biol’s muzzle-tendrils and fur. In place of that fur there was a row of rounded ivory spines going down his back.

The patch of lighter scales on Morality’s back and shoulders, which Anxiety had originally thought to be scar tissue, was upon closer inspection merely an odd marking of gray scales—not at all unlike Morality’s cardigan. He was skinnier than Anxiety would have liked to see, the bones of his hips and shoulders prominent as he leaned over the parchment. No doubt that was due to the past three weeks spent scavenging who knew where.

Guilt suddenly seized Anxiety’s chest. He should’ve been there to take care of them. He should’ve been the one to warn them about starvation, and keep them motivated to find food and shelter instead of—of finding _him._ They didn’t even need him. (But the fact that they came, that maybe, in some twisted-up way, they _wanted_ him—it made his heart feel warm and strange and he didn’t exactly want it to stop.)

A sudden movement against his shoulder jolted him from his thoughts, and he glanced at Prince, who was scurrying down his arm to read what Morality was writing. His altered appearance was the least grand of the group’s, to both Anxiety’s amusement and consternation. Even Logic had a splash of color in the dark blue patch under his throat, but Prince looked just like any other city rat—short brown fur and dark eyes and twitching whiskers.

Because that was what Prince feared above all else, right? Being a common, loathed pest with no dreams beyond eating scraps and being a nuisance?

It was almost enough to make Anxiety pity him.

Flickering memories rose up to meet him, then, and shame gnawed at his throat with awful, sharp teeth. He’d locked Prince out of the tower, leaving him to freeze in the forest. He’d almost let Biol eat him. He’d—he’d kicked him. He’d hurt one of the few people in this whole goddamn world he was supposed to _defend._

God, he was such a piece of shit.

Clearing his throat, Anxiety called Prince’s attention back to him and said, “I, uh—I guess I should apologize for kicking you. And for having Biol lock you out of the tower. And for almost letting him eat you.”

Prince rolled his eyes—a movement that looked extremely odd in a rat’s face—and shook his head, turning back to Morality’s writing. Anxiety hesitated—shouldn’t Prince be furious? Shouldn’t he hate Anxiety now, even more than usual?—before scowling at his back. That was what he got for his apology? Didn’t Prince know how much worthless pride he’d had to swallow down to make it?

Although, he realized suddenly, what pride could he possibly have left in Prince’s eyes? Prince had seen him having a panic attack, that night when Anxiety had kicked him. He had seen him hyperventilating into his own hoodie sleeves, wallowing in fear and self-loathing. _Shit._

Luckily, before he could dwell too much on his humiliation, Morality sat up and chirped at him. Anxiety, grateful for the distraction, scooted forward to read the messy scrawl on the parchment. The words were large and crooked, a single paragraph taking up almost an entire page and three minutes’ writing time.

_I woke up in the prison because the Queen knew I wasn’t one of her dragons, but Logic and Prince got away. They broke me out and then we looked for you, but we didn’t know where you’d gone until we heard one of the prison guards talking about how there’d been someone taken to Biol’s tower, and that the Queen was going there in a few weeks. Then we had to figure out who Biol was, and where his tower was, before we could come after you. We tried to come as fast as we could, though._

It sounded—well, it almost sounded like an apology. Like Morality thought that Anxiety was angry at them for not arriving sooner. It was partially Anxiety’s own fault, though, wasn’t it? He’d met Prince in the cellar a few weeks after he’d arrived, and he’d turned his back on him. He’d done the same when Morality had showed up, too. So it wasn’t really their fault at all. It was his, as per usual.

“You did get here pretty fast, all things considered,” Anxiety said, relieved to see Morality’s shoulders relax—as though Anxiety’s unwarranted forgiveness could bring him any sort of comfort. “I’m sorry about how Biol acted when you first showed up.”

But it wasn’t really all Biol’s fault either, was it? If Anxiety had wanted to, he could have insisted that they heard the street dragon out, instead of letting fear rule him—but then, when had he ever done something as noble as that? Sighing, he pulled his knees to his chest and leaned over them, flipping the parchment over to give Morality room to continue writing.

_When we got here, we weren’t sure what to do. We didn’t know if this big dragon would hurt you or not, and you didn’t know who we were so you couldn’t help us get you out. We figured we were just going to have to kidnap you and explain later, so I came here to scout the tower out for Logic. Then I may have gotten a little ahead of myself—Biol seemed so nice, and I thought that if I told you guys who I was and that the Queen was coming soon, he would let you leave with me. I guess I made him mad, though. And when I told Logic he was mad, too. He said that Biol would be on the lookout for us now that I’d upset him, and I guess he was._

_But Logic had been having a difficult time coming up with a plan that would keep all of us safe. He says that’s why he missed you. Then you guys found us, and Biol said he was turning against the Queen, so I thought we could trust him and tell him—and you—who we were. And it worked!_

“That’s—” Before Anxiety could finish, he heard Logic hiss behind him. When he looked back, Logic was still coiled on the parchment with the castle’s diagram, but he was glowering at Morality. Anxiety felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “That’s illogical, Morality. And a huge risk.”

_Oh, goodness. I’ve missed hearing you say that, kiddo._

Anxiety ducked his head to hide the rising blush in his cheeks and, grappling for a change of subject, asked, “So what do you guys know about the curse?”

_Nothing,_ Morality wrote. _We were hoping you could tell us._

“Well, what I know comes from Biol. He said that any human who touched the Stone would be turned into the creature they hated most. What I don’t understand is why Thomas didn’t just turn into something. Why did we all split up?”

_And why are you still normal?_

Anxiety glanced away, shoulders tensing. “Well, I guess we can ask the magician when we overthrow the Queen.”

Prince’s ears twisted forward, the first sign of genuine interest Anxiety had seen from him yet. Of course an idea as foolish and dangerous as the one Biol was proposing would intrigue him. Morality responded more sedately, and with something more like concern than interest, leaning forward to write again.

_Are you sure you want to go through with his plan?_

Lowering his voice so Biol wouldn’t overhear, Anxiety said, “Yeah. I couldn’t care less about the Stones or the kingdom, but we have to get you guys back to normal—we have to get Thomas back.”

Prince nodded earnestly, eyes shining.

_Okay. Then we’ll do whatever we can to help you,_ Morality wrote, and Anxiety’s heart swelled unexpectedly with appreciation—how very lucky he was. Not hours ago he had been wallowing in desperation, uncertain if he would ever see Thomas or the other sides again, and now here Morality and Logic and Prince were, alive and safe and offering him help.

So what was going to wrong? How was the world going to get him back for this little piece of luck it had given him?

“Anxiety, look at this,” Biol called, and the three of them returned to his side. Logic sat in a satisfied loop, surveying the diagram. “Logic has pointed out a flaw in the treasure-room that you attempted to steal the first Stone from. He said that the rafters crossed at an seventy-five degree angle, but that is incorrect, as all the maps I have seen label them as ninety degree angles.”

When Biol paused, as though this was supposed to have some impact on him, Anxiety raised an eyebrow. “And…? I’m an embodiment of terror and cynicism, not an architect.”

“Well, I would pass it off as a mere miscommunication on the maps, but my old friend Circe helped to construct the castle, so I am inclined to believe that there are probably many problems,” Biol said. “She was not good at building things.”

“You’ve mentioned.”

“What it means is that the roof is naturally weakened. It may be possible to grab the Stone, collapse the room in on itself, and use the distraction to make a clean getaway—of course, that means you must fetch the Stone in that room last, so you are not running about to get the other two when the guards are called.”

“And Logic thinks this’ll work?”

Logic nodded at him.

“Then it’s fine with me. Only—how are we going to collapse the roof?”

Biol turned his eyes to Morality, who blinked innocently at him. “Why, you have a dragon. He can learn to fly, can he not?”


	7. All the Optimism of Early January

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: mentions of death  
> chapter title is taken from the song “all the optimism of early january” by lullatone
> 
> beta'd by the magnificent randomslasher!

“Spread your wings, there. Keep them beating down as you go to rise, and then soften up the angle to glide. Get over that river and catch a thermal—that is a bit of hot air that will made it easier to fly. Once you are there, simply hold yourself aloft. Flip your tail to either side to keep your balance. It is mostly instinct, anyway, though I must wonder how much of that you have, being a human. Well, no matter. The hardest part is now: jump.”

Morality stood on the edge of Biol’s tower, wings spread and eyes bright, and Anxiety felt like he was going to die. He had almost forgotten how terrifying it was to be around the others, around their ridiculous ideas and foolish plans. It was all too easy to remember now. 

What if Morality’s wings just weren’t big enough? What if his lack of instinct sent him plummeting to the ground? Sure, Biol could catch him, but what if he missed? What if— _ splat— _ Morality hit the ground and broke every bone in his goddamn body? What if he died?

The thought of it sent Anxiety’s heart racing and bile rising in his throat. He was torn between turning his back and pretending that nothing was happening and being unable to tear his eyes away from Morality. Everything in him howled at him to leap forward, latch his arms around Morality’s neck, and drag him away from the edge—

But Prince was a light weight on his shoulder, one mistrustful eye angled in his direction. If he moved to stop Morality, Prince would be furious. He would be destroying their opportunity to save Thomas, which, to all appearances, was of inestimable importance to Prince. Of course, it was to the rest of them too—Thomas was their  _ them _ , after all—but it seemed to be all that Prince could focus on.

It was his dream, Anxiety supposed. Had Prince ever had a dream before? He had had dreams for Thomas, of course, but had he ever had one for himself? Anxiety thought he probably hadn’t, and that was why he was clinging so hard to the one he had now, because if that failed, then—then what was the point of his dreams? (What would he be worth if they couldn’t ever get Thomas back?)

The sound of talons scraping against stone snapped Anxiety’s attention back to Morality, who was leaning forward at the edge of the tower. He was way too eager about this whole thing. Anxiety had thought that the street dragon had been insensible, standing up in the face of Biol’s anger, but now he  _ knew  _ that the street dragon was insensible. Fearless—an accurate enough description, considering what fear Morality had was sitting at the other end of the roof, with a rat on his shoulder and a snake around his arm.

Anxiety saw the muscles bunch in Morality’s haunches seconds before he threw himself off of the tower, and he ground the heels of his hands into his eyes and tried not to flip the fuck out. Prince rose onto his hind feet, setting a paw on Anxiety’s cheek to balance himself, and Logic tightened around his wrist, stretching forward curiously.

They heard the sound of wings flapping only briefly, until the distance between themselves and Morality tore the sound away, and Anxiety buried his head in his arms and moaned, “He’s going to die, he’s going to fucking die, he’s—”

“Well, he is flapping,” Biol said, peering over the side of the tower. “There. He glided, just a bit. Oh, but he is not slowing down very much. Not very much at all. Hm.”

“Don’t let him hit the ground,” Anxiety growled, his head snapping up and eyes narrowing. “Don’t you dare let him—”

Biol pushed himself up, spreading his wings out and forming another sky above their heads. “I do not think he is going to land properly.”

_ “Biol—” _

“I shall fetch him.”

Biol sprang from the tower in a rush of air, and Anxiety bolted forward to look over the side of the tower. Morality was plummeting far, far too quickly towards the ground and, oh, god, what if Biol didn’t reach him time, what if he slid through Biol’s talons because he was so small, or what if he were accidently injured when Biol caught him, what if—

Biol twisted around mid-air, turning his underbelly towards Morality and reaching out with a paw to pull Morality against his chest. Then he flipped over again and spread his wings out, cupping the air with them and allowing it to billow him upwards—up, and away from the surety of death that was the ground. He turned into an easy glide around the tower, flapping just enough to bring him back to the top of it and allowing Morality to jump from his paws and onto the roof.

“Oh, thank god,” Anxiety breathed, stumbling weak-kneed in Morality’s direction. He was alive, he hadn’t shattered into a million pieces, he was  _ fine.  _ “We’re not doing that again.”

Morality bounded towards them, eyes shining and head high, chittering with excitement. He threw himself into Anxiety’s arms—a fact for which Anxiety was definitely  _ not  _ grateful, okay, seriously, he wasn’t—and nosed at Prince and Logic. Biol came down on all fours with a tremendous noise, shaking out his wings and yawning as though Morality hadn’t just almost  _ died. _

“It was a fair thing, for a first try,” Biol said, and Morality shuffled his wings rather proudly. “Although next time, you should hold your wings a bit more like so, and—”

“There’s not going to  _ be  _ a next time,” Anxiety said, glowering at him.

“Whyever not? How else is he to learn?”

“You can teach him on the ground,” Anxiety said. “That’s where he’s going to be jumping from at the castle anyway.”

“It is much more difficult to learn to fly using a ground launch. It would be discouraging—”

Anxiety shot a pointed look at Morality, who was wriggling enthusiastically and already glancing back at the edge of the tower. “You’re going to have a  _ very  _ hard time discouraging him. Trust me. I’ve tried. It’s a lot easier to kill him then it is to discourage him, though—especially by making him throw himself off of a giant tower—so we’re not doing it again.”

Morality shot him a betrayed look, which he scowled down, and Biol grudgingly consented to try from the ground. They practiced the rest of the day away, and Morality appeared utterly exhausted by sunset. He didn’t even bother to fold his wings back in when Biol called an end to the day. Instead, he let them drag along the ground beside him, panting but delighted, because he’d done it—he’d flown.

Sure, it had only been for some thirty feet, but it had definitely been flying. He draped himself across Anxiety’s lap as Biol set about making dinner, and Anxiety could feel the heat of hard work coming off of his serpentine body long after he had stopped moving. Logic coiled next to Morality’s belly, utterly reptilian in his desire to be close to any and all heat sources, and Prince stood next to Morality’s muzzle to listen to his excited chittering.

Again, although it was strange, Anxiety didn’t mind being so close to them. Normally, he would sequester himself away in his room in Thomas’ mindscape, but that wasn’t an option, now, and even if it had been—well, he wasn’t sure he would have done it anyway. Not so soon after he’d gotten them back. If he couldn’t see them or hear them, after all, how did he know they were really here? How did he know he hadn’t just dreamed them up?

(A ridiculous idea, but a powerful one.)

“Here,” Biol said, handing each of them a dish of stew. Anxiety sighed, glancing down at it—he was getting really sick of stew. “I have something else for you, as well. Wait here a moment.”

Anxiety waited for the other three to begin eating before he dipped his spoon into his own bowl. There was something strangely comforting about seeing them eat, especially after discovering how thin they all were. It made him feel like, for a moment, he was doing the right thing and taking care of Thomas—even if Thomas wasn’t really here. But he was, wasn’t he, in a weird sort of way? He was here, only broken up into little mangled pieces.

Logic must have noticed his silence, because he paused after swallowing a chunk of meat whole and cocked his head inquisitively at Anxiety. Anxiety, grateful for once for the many, many years they’d lived together, read the question in the movement and said, “It’s nothing. Just thinking.”

“Well, now, think about  _ this,”  _ Biol said, returning from one of the upper rooms of the tower. He held something between his talons, and he set it gingerly in front of the four of them. It was a small glass bottle, and inside of it sloshed a clear, vibrant green liquid. “I have been saving it for a very long time, and I believe that perhaps you might find it useful.”

“What is it?” Anxiety eyed the bottle warily.

“It is acid. It should eat through anything that you place it upon within a matter of minutes, only do not get it on yourself. I shall teach you how to pick a lock tonight, but this might be handy for getting into some of the Queen’s rooms at the castle, should the locks prove too clever for you." Biol settled back to the ground with a satisfied nod.

Logic practically  _ nuzzled  _ the bottle, he was peering at it with such fascination. He bobbed his head enthusiastically at Anxiety, who sighed in resignation. “Right. Of course. Can we put it into something that’s maybe less breakable, though?”

“Oh, do not worry about that. A friend of mine enchanted the bottle to keep it whole. Even if you should drop it from dragonback, it will not crack at all,” Biol said.

So, reluctantly, Anxiety tucked the bottle into Morality’s new carrying harness—a ramshackle project, made of several loose lengths of rope knotted together. In spite of Biol’s confidence, Anxiety swaddled the bottle in multiple layers of cloth before dropping it into the net of ropes that would be looped underneath Morality’s stomach. If it cracked, at least the acid would drip down and onto the ground, instead of onto Morality. There was no way he was going to play games with Morality’s wellbeing on Biol’s word, however amiable and helpful he seemed.

Once he’d finished his dinner, he sprawled out on Biol’s back to sleep. Morality flopped happily across him, his head coming to rest on Anxiety’s chest, and Anxiety couldn’t bring himself to mind or shove him away. Logic coiled next to Morality’s neck, leaving Prince to curl up beneath Anxiety’s chin, which—okay, gross, but Anxiety supposed he could make an exception, just this once.

And yeah, maybe (probably) tomorrow would begin a cataclysmic chain of events and set them on the path to death and destruction—

But for now, for these brief remaining hours, Anxiety was almost happy.

And then he woke up to hot breath in his face and Morality’s happy chittering, which quickly ruined his mood. He didn’t even bother to crack an eye open—he just shoved Morality’s face away from his and rolled over, much to Prince’s disapproval, if his squeaks were anything to go by. When Morality’s incessant noise didn’t stop, however, he grudgingly opened his eyes and said, “What? What could you possibly want at this hellish hour?”

Morality crouched in front of him and stretched his head forward, gently hooking his teeth into Anxiety’s hoodie and tugging. 

“No,” Anxiety grumbled, curling an arm over his face. “It’s too early. Go ‘way.”

“The sun  _ is  _ rising, Anxiety,” Biol said. “I do believe you wanted to leave when it came up. Although, I do not particularly think that is what has your Patton so excited. Might you look outside a moment?”

Groaning, Anxiety rolled onto his feet and stumbled towards the window. He had to crawl up Biol’s haunch to see out of it, a feat of great proportions even when he was wide awake, and nearly slipped several times. Morality was there to brace him each time, though, chirping merrily. When they reached the window, Morality stood on his back legs to peer outside, eyes shining as though he’d never seen anything so grand.

Anxiety was significantly less thrilled.

“It’s snowing,” he said, scowling. “Seriously? Of course it is. What else could possibly go wrong?”

“I think it is quite lovely,” Biol said.

“Of course you do. You have, like, a fire pit inside of your stomach.”

“That is not quite how it works—”

Anxiety waved him off and slid back to the ground, disgruntled. Snow. Fucking snow. Two days of traveling, and  _ snow.  _ Grumbling, he scooped up Prince, who was still half-asleep and completely uncooperative when Anxiety tried to place him on his shoulder. Rather than fight with him, Anxiety jammed Prince into his pocket instead. He expected an instant reaction, but Prince only burrowed closer to him, and Anxiety sighed and resigned himself to a pocketful of rat.

When Anxiety offered his arm, Logic sluggishly curled himself around it and watched with half-lidded eyes as Anxiety helped Morality into his carrying harness. Biol helped them cram dried meat and fruit, a few pieces of hard bread, and canteens into leather bags, which were then tied to Morality’s harness. Anxiety himself packed their medical supplies—a roll of gauze, a flask of alcohol, a suture kit, and a handful of dried poppy seeds. 

It wasn’t much, and that made terror rear its ugly head in Anxiety’s chest. What if they were missing something vitally important? What if one of the others was hurt and Anxiety had forgotten to pack something and he was too stupid to improvise and they  _ died?  _

With that train of thought chewing a hole in his head, Anxiety found himself combing obsessively through their medical pack another three times before they were ready to leave. He reached for it a fourth time, but Morality set a paw on his hand and levelled him with a steady gaze. Almost instantly, Anxiety felt his hackles beginning to rise—they didn’t  _ understand,  _ what if something went  _ wrong,  _ and how did he know that all of the stuff he thought was there was actually there? What if his memory was faulty and someone died because of it?

But—but he’d checked it three times, right? And he was usually pretty good at remembering stuff, if only to haunt Thomas with those memories later. He was just being paranoid. The med pack was fine. It had to be fine. 

Okay, but what if it wasn’t?

Before Anxiety could argue, however, Biol swung the tower’s door open and Morality bounded outside. Biol ducked out after him, and Anxiety followed much less enthusiastically. The snow was only a thin, dusty layer over the ground, for which he was grateful—but, if the heavy clouds in the sky were anything to go by, that wouldn’t last long.

Logic winced unhappily at the cold as the wind curled around them, and he slithered from Anxiety’s wrist to his pocket to wind himself around Prince. Anxiety jammed his hands in after them—he was definitely not above leeching off of the warmth of their bodies (er, well, the warmth of  _ Prince’s  _ body, considering Logic had very little to spare) if he was going to be carrying them around everywhere. 

“Well, it is a fine day to begin a journey,” Biol declared, sitting back on his haunches and peering happily at the clouds.

Anxiety looked at him with undisguised disgust. “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all. The wind is quite brisk, and should make for a quick flight, if only you—you are not flying. Ah. Well—well, at least you will not overheat. That is something.”

Anxiety stared at him.

“Alright, very well,” Biol said, sighing gustily. “It is an awful day to begin a journey. I do not envy you in the least.”

“Yeah, well—where is he going? Morality, are—are you serious? Are you actually being serious right now? We haven’t even said goodbye,” Anxiety said.

Morality, already trotting down the path away from the tower, wheeled around, hopped onto his hind legs, and waved one paw vigorously at Biol. Biol waved back at him, much to Anxiety’s displeasure. 

“Don’t encourage him,” he said.

“Whyever not?” Biol asked. “You were right. He is quite nice when he is not biting me.”

Anxiety watched as Morality, evidently satisfied with his goodbyes, spun around and carried on his merry fucking way.

“That. That is why,” Anxiety said. “Oh my god. Morality. We haven’t even gotten three hundred feet away yet and you’re already causing problems. Wait—hey, wait up. Okay, okay, jeez, I’m coming—bye, Biol. Thanks for setting us up as revolutionaries or whatever.”

“You are most welcome.” Biol sounded amused. “Best of luck.”

_ Luck,  _ Anxiety scoffed, hurrying after Morality. They were going to need a lot more than luck to get them through this goddamn week—they would need brains and courage and heart. They certainly didn’t need cowardice, but they were going to get it, because he’d be damned if he let the others run off on their own after they’d been separated for so long. He was too selfish for that.

As they passed through the edges of Biol’s territory, following the river towards probable doom and destruction, Anxiety found himself looking back. He couldn’t see the tower through the trees, but something in him already ached to return. It had become familiar to him, in the last three weeks, and familiar meant safe and he—he longed for nothing more than safety.

But that wasn’t quite true, was it? He wanted something even more than his own safety—he wanted the other sides’ safety, he wanted  _ Thomas’  _ safety, and if that meant disregarding his own and pushing forward into the unknown, then—

Then so be it.


	8. Gusts of Wind Blowing in Different Directions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: mentions of death and injury  
> chapter title is from the song “gusts of wind blowing in different directions” by the last dinosaur
> 
> beta'd by the stupendous randomslasher!

Rather than grow warmer as the sun rose, the day grew—and malevolently, Anxiety was sure—even colder. The wind whipped out of the north, furious and blustering and shoving heavy clouds in their direction. The snow shifted from light and inconsequential to thick and hellish within two hours of their leaving the tower. Morality was delighted by the change, snapping at the snowflakes that skirted near his jaws and peering at his own pawprints with immense joy as they were refilled with snow.

Prince and Logic, on the other hand, were much less happy. A part of Anxiety wanted to be satisfied by that—maybe they were _finally_ getting some common sense—but another, larger part found itself displeased. Prince and Logic weren’t supposed to be unhappy. It didn’t feel right. It grated against him, raw and uncomfortable, until he finally had to pause next to the river and ask, “Are you guys alright?”

Prince squeaked at him, but the sound wasn’t as haughty as Anxiety thought it should have been. Not that he was expert in rat noises—not by any means—but he _did_ have twenty-eight years of experience in Prince’s vocal nuances.

Logic didn’t respond, which, from a snake, he supposed was to be expected. What was concerning was the fact that he didn’t so much as move to bump his head against Anxiety’s fingers or curl more tightly around his hand. Panic immediately surged into Anxiety’s throat, hot and thick, and he bent awkwardly at the waist to look into his own pocket—he didn’t dare take Logic out, not in this cold.

“Lo? What’s wrong?”

Two weary eyes shone at him from the dark of his pocket, and Logic’s tongue flicked out to brush against the skin of his wrist. Prince squirmed out from under Anxiety’s palm and placed one paw on Logic’s side, looking at him with confusion. Moving slowly, Logic lifted his head and poked it out of Anxiety’s pocket, looking towards Morality. His tongue flicked again.

Oh, _oh._ Snakes were cold-blooded. The temperature was terrible enough for the three of them, but it had to be much worse for Logic. Anxiety, as hard as he might try, couldn’t generate enough heat to keep him warm. But maybe someone else could.

“Morality, c’mere,” Anxiety called, gently nudging Logic’s head back into his pocket so the snake didn’t lose any more heat than he strictly needed to.

Morality raced back to them, slipping several times on the snow. He skidded to a stop just in front of Anxiety and chittered curiously at him.

“I’m gonna put Logic and Prince into your harness. I can’t keep them warm enough, but you probably can, if you keep them next to your stomach.”

Some of the cheer faded from Morality’s eyes and he jammed his muzzle into Anxiety’s pocket, chuffing with concern. Anxiety tolerated it for a moment before nudging him away and saying, “Stand still. Let me rearrange some of our packs.”

Morality stood stock-still as Anxiety moved some of their packs farther back to make room for Logic and Prince, nearly trembling in his eagerness to do right by them. Anxiety emptied one of their food packs out onto the snow—might as well have lunch early, right?—and then, after a significant amount of internal debate, lined it with some of their gauze. He tied this pack into the netting beneath Morality’s stomach, cinching it tightly to make sure it was close enough to the heat of the dragon’s belly and whatever internal device generated his fire-breathing ability.

“Move around a bit. Make sure it doesn’t come untied,” Anxiety said, and Morality obeyed, prancing in a circle and shaking off the snow that had dusted his wings and back as he stood. The pack held, and Anxiety motioned for him to still again. Once he had, Anxiety carefully scooped Logic up and placed him into the pack. “There. How’s that?”

Logic only lifted his head, slow and heavy, to look at Anxiety, and worry felt fit to burn a hole into Anxiety’s stomach. What if Logic got sick? What if he _died?_ What if Anxiety had dragged them all out here only to get them killed?

Anxiety shoved Prince into the pack after Logic, and Prince fixed him with a baffled glance. “What?” Anxiety asked. “Help keep Logic warm.”

He tied the pack closed once the both of them had settled, although he made sure to keep a hole at the top so they could breathe. They carried on their way after that, although Anxiety had to continuously stifle the urge to peek into the pack and see how Logic was doing—opening the pack and letting whatever warm air had managed to accumulate there out would be worse than not knowing, though. Besides, Prince would surely let him know if something was wrong. He always did.

Morality was cautious at first, continuously tucking his head down to nose at his new burden, but within half an hour he had resumed his careless romping through the snow drifts—although he was, at least, attempting not to get snow onto Logic and Prince’s pack. Anxiety, for his part, was too miserable to snap much at Morality’s antics. His own fingers were red and stiff, his nose ran, and he had to keep rubbing feeling back into the tips of his ears. Biol had given him several lengths of thick cloth, which he’d wound around his neck and stuffed into his hoodie, but it didn’t completely bar the cold from sneaking in and nipping at his skin.

After a few hours of travel, the cold evidently worked its way into Morality, too, as he quit bounding around and came to sit and shiver before Anxiety. Anxiety ran his hands over the thin membranes of Morality’s wings, unhappy with how cold and tight they felt, and then pulled some of the cloth he’d stuffed into his jacket out. He wrapped the cloth around Morality’s wings, pinning them tightly to his sides to—hopefully, anyhow—preserve more of his body heat.

It seemed to work, as after a short period of walking, Morality resumed his energetic exploring. At first, that was relief, but when the bank of the river fell away, forming a cliff face some twenty feet down, Anxiety’s relief quickly scrambled to become worry again.

“Morality,” he called, heart lurching into his throat as the dragon skirted painfully close to the edge of aforementioned cliff, “be careful. If you fall off of that you’ll probably break every bone in your body—and get hypothermia, because that water won’t exactly be warm.”

Morality looked at him, his breath coming in great white clouds, and nodded. For the next few minutes, he _did_ stay away from the edge, choosing to limit his exploration to the relative safety of the forest next to the river. Anxiety still kept one eye on him at all times—what if a feral dragon attacked him, or he slipped and hurt himself?

And then, because caution was apparently a _very_ limited notion to Morality, Anxiety saw him trotting back towards the edge of the cliff. He sighed. They just couldn’t ever listen, could they? He’d almost forgotten how much work keeping them all alive was. He opened his mouth to remind Morality— _again—_ to stay away from the edge when the snow suddenly collapsed beneath Morality’s feet, and Morality—

Morality fell.

Fear slammed into Anxiety’s chest, hot and sour, and he bolted forward, heedless of the thing in the back of his head that howled for him to be more cautious. _The snow’s loose, it’s crumbling, who knows where solid ground ends and danger begins, be_ careful, _if he can fall in so can you—_

But what did that matter, when three of the most important important things in his life had just fallen off of a fucking cliff?

Anxiety dropped to his knees next to the cliff edge, terror clawing madly at his insides as he looked down. Oh god oh god oh god—

There. Morality was there. He’d slid a third of the way down the cliff, but had—thank god—managed to hook his talons into the hard-packed dirt and bring himself to a halt before he hit the water. The relief that came upon seeing Morality, still relatively safe, was temporary at best. Morality could still fall at any time. All it would take was one misstep, a wrong breath, a strong breeze, and—and—

“Morality?” Anxiety said, his voice trembling. “Don’t move.”

Morality’s eyes flicked up to him, wide and confused. His forelegs were already trembling with the weight of holding himself up, but even as he chittered at Anxiety and glanced back over his shoulder—at the icy, frothing water beneath him—there was no fear in his gaze. The bank on the opposite side of the river was much lower, so if Morality fell in he could climb out on the other side, but the water would be freezing. Although he was a dragon, right? So he could just fly over to the other—

He could fly, if Anxiety hadn’t tied his wings to his fucking back.

Shit.

“I’m—I’m gonna pull you up, Mo. Just—just hang on a minute.” Anxiety inched away from the edge, floundering. Was that what he should do? Could he do that? Was he strong enough? Oh god, shit, he couldn’t _think,_ he needed Logic, but Logic was a snake tied to a fucking dragon about to fall into a river and _when_ had his life gotten this ridiculous?

Okay, okay, breathe. That was what Logic always said to do when he started freaking out. In and out, in and out. The air stung his nose. The cloth that had been his makeshift scarf had come loose in his panicked rush to the cliff, and now it drooped around his neck, and—

And the cloth.

For a moment, Anxiety almost felt delighted—that was it. The cloth. Was this how Logic felt whenever he came up with a plan? It was magnificent. He could get definitely get used to it. But it was a fleeting feeling, when pushed up against the bulk of his wrenching fear, and it wasn’t useful at all. So, with some regret, he shoved that feeling aside and untied his scarf.

“Okay.” Anxiety leaned over the cliff edge and Morality beamed at him. Anxiety’s heart twisted with an odd mixture of exasperation, fondness, and sheer terror. How could Morality smile at a time like this? Honestly. “I’m gonna drop this down there and you’re going to grab it with your teeth—try not to move your body too much yet.”

Morality nodded happily and Anxiety dropped his scarf over the edge. It was almost long enough, but—but not quite. He felt a flare of desperation before realizing that _oh,_ he could use more than just the scarf. He sat back on his heels and quickly shed his hoodie, knotting up the remaining lengths of cloth he’d stuffed inside of it until he had a significantly longer makeshift rope. He draped this back over the edge, and Morality sank his teeth into it.

“I’m going to try to pull you up, so just—just climb a little bit,” Anxiety said. He twisted the rope of cloth around his wrist and moved back onto ground he was fairly certain was solid. Then he drove his heels in, took a deep breath, and hauled. For the first few seconds, he thought that maybe it was going to work, and then—

Then he heard the sound of cloth ripping.

“Stop stop stop!” Anxiety shouted, lunging back towards the edge. Morality looked apologetically at him, the cloth already torn to tatters between the points of his teeth. Frustration boiled, low and hot, in Anxiety’s stomach. “Plan B time.”

Only, uh, he didn’t have a Plan B.

Prince’s head jutted from the pack on Morality’s stomach, his ears pinned. Horror suddenly seized Anxiety with the sudden knowledge that Prince could fall, Prince could _die,_ all of them could, oh god—

No. Breathe.

“Princey, are you good at climbing?” Anxiety asked.

Prince, for once sobered by their situation, nodded at him.

“Climb up the cloth but—but be really careful. If it doesn’t feel safe go back down to Morality right away.”

And Prince, goddamn him, refused. He looked pointedly at Morality, then at Logic, who was still curled up in the depths of their pack. There was ridiculous kind of self-sacrificing nobility in his eyes, and Anxiety was torn between wanting to cry and wanting to wring Prince’s fucking neck.

“Climb—up—the—rope.”

Prince glared at him.

_“Now.”_

Prince turned his back, and something helpless and furious crammed itself into Anxiety’s throat.

“Roman, you fucking bastard. I am so goddamn sick of your bullshit. You’re a real tough guy, huh? You think doing everything by yourself makes you look better? You think you never need any help, because you’re just fucking _perfect,_ aren’t you? Nothing bad can ever happen to you if you don’t want it to, is that right?”

Prince paused, his fur bristling.

“Oh, am I making you mad now? _Good._ You’re a narcissistic, arrogant asshole who’s willing to throw away your own life for the sake of looking brave _._ Who the hell is that going to help? Not Morality, not Logic, and certainly not Thomas. As much as I loathe admitting it, he does need you. So just—just climb up the fucking rope.”

The look Prince gave him wasn’t scathing, as Anxiety had expected—no, it was—it was hollow. He reached out and set one tiny paw against Morality’s stomach, his eyes never leaving Anxiety’s.

And Anxiety—Anxiety, for the first time in his life, thought that maybe he understood Prince. “I know. I know, Roman. You don’t want to leave them, right? You want to protect them. You’re the brave one, you have to stay with them and make sure they’re not scared so they can get through this, but that—that’s not going to work this time. Your way of protecting them isn’t going to work. This isn’t a problem you can just push through.”

Prince glanced away and Anxiety pressed his advantage.

“So let me do it this time. Let me protect them. I know you hate it, I know you hate me, but I—I wanna keep them safe too.” The way Anxiety’s voice cracked was caused by exhaustion, not emotion. Definitely not emotion. “I care about them too. I love them. I—I love you, so just—just come here. Let me do my job.”

Prince looked—looked, well, stunned, for lack of a better word. He regarded Anxiety for a long, tense moment before finally dropping his gaze and nodding unhappily. Relief swelled in Anxiety’s chest and escaped him a in a long exhale.

“Okay. Okay, fantastic. Climb up the rope.”

And this time, Prince did. He dug his pinprick claws into the cloth and clambered up it, into Anxiety’s outstretched hand. Anxiety set him aside—far, far away from the edge—and then looked back down the cliff.

“Logic, you next.”

Logic crept tentatively from the pack, winding himself tightly around the cloth. He edged cautiously up it, but seemed to realize that he was actually a fairly good climber about halfway up and sped his progress. When he coiled, at last, around Anxiety’s wrist, Anxiety was dismayed to discover how cold his body had already become. He spread his hoodie out over the snow and regretfully set Logic upon it, instructing Prince to keep him as warm as possible.

When he returned to Morality, the tremor that had started in the dragon’s forelegs had moved out into his shoulders and haunches. His breathing came quicker, clouding around his nostrils, but he still offered Anxiety a smile when their eyes met. Anxiety gathered what little courage he had—seeing the others in danger made it abundantly easier to do so, he was realizing—and leaned over the edge of the cliff.

“Do you think you can move up a little bit? I need a get a hold of your harness,” Anxiety said. His fingers dangled some three feet from Morality’s nose, no matter how far he stretched. “If you don’t think you can we’ll figure out another way, though.”

Morality chirped at him, then unlatched one pawful of talons from the cliff wall and moved it up. Anxiety watched as he scrabbled for another grip, his heart in his throat. In that same slow, unnerving way Morality continued up the wall, until he could nuzzle Anxiety’s fingers with his nose. Then he stopped, sides rising and falling rapidly, and rested his head against the cliff wall.

“Good job, Mo.” Anxiety leaned—just a little further and he could reach the band of the harness that ran around the base of Morality’s neck. Almost, almost—“There. I gotcha.”

Morality sighed and almost immediately let Anxiety take some of his weight—and for a tiny dragon, Morality sure wasn’t light. Anxiety nearly toppled over the edge, but he threw his own weight back at the last second and managed to regain his balance. They rested there for a moment, catching their breaths, until Morality lifted his head again and huffed wearily at Anxiety.

Anxiety helped Morality along as best he could as the dragon continued his slow progress up the wall, but there was little he could do lying flat on his belly with a precarious grip on the harness. It wasn’t until Morality was high enough up the cliff to allow Anxiety to stand _and_ maintain his grip that Anxiety could really help. Once there, though, Anxiety put everything he had into it—he drove his heels into the snow and surged backwards, and in a final scramble Morality’s front half came up over the top of the cliff.

Morality’s forelegs collapsed almost immediately, and he lay with his back legs dangling over the edge for a minute, eyes closed and panting. Anxiety moved forward to grab the band that ran just in front of Morality’s haunches, unwilling to rest until he got Morality’s hindquarters onto solid ground. And then, because the world was incredibly fond of screwing him over, Anxiety slipped.

The snow, already slicked by the mad scramble of Morality’s talons, buckled towards the edge of the cliff, and Anxiety went with it. He spun around, grasping desperately for something to hold himself up with, and his fingers snagged in Morality’s harness. For a moment, he almost felt relieved. He almost felt lucky.

And then he realized that Morality was slipping, too, dragged backwards by Anxiety’s weight, and Anxiety—Anxiety couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t drag Morality down with him. He _couldn’t._ So he did the only thing he could—

He let go.


	9. The Winter Day Declining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: mentions of death, injury, blood  
> chapter title is from the song “the winter day declining” by this patch of sky
> 
> beta'd by the marvelous randomslasher!

Hitting the water was like hitting concrete—pain flared up along every part him, and the breath was knocked from his lungs. The cold immediately clawed through him, and then his head was underwater and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t  _ breathe,  _ he was going to fucking die—

He thrashed, uncertain of which way was up, the current tugging him furiously in what felt like every direction. His lungs burned, and he squinted through the dark of the water until he saw the faintest glimmer of light above him. He lunged for it, struggling until his head broke the surface and he could haul in a freezing lungful of air. 

Then he was dragged under again, the river slamming him up against its banks and tangling his legs with debris. Then—through luck or happy coincidence or simply the world’s sick sense of humor—Anxiety felt his fingers brush up against something solid. He clawed desperately at it and managed to latch on. When his head broke the surface again, he saw that it was a large rock—one mercifully close to the bank on the opposite side, the one that, you know,  _ wasn’t  _ a cliff.

Fear driving him onward—he couldn’t stay in this water for long, it was too cold and he knew it, even as a sort of numbness was settling rapidly into his skin—Anxiety dove for the bank. He struggled onto it, the water trying valiantly to pull him back in. He climbed shakily to his feet, shivering violently, and staggered away from the river. 

For a moment, he huddled down into himself and just breathed. He could breathe. He was fine. He wasn’t drowning, he was fairly certain he hadn’t broken anything—although he was sure his body was going to be hellishly sore come morning—and he wasn’t freezing to death.

Well,  _ maybe  _ he wasn’t freezing to death. He, uh. Actually he probably still was.

Behind him, he could hear a flurry of chirrups, and he turned to see Morality standing at the edge of the cliff— _ again,  _ goddammit—wide-eyed and tense. Through chattering teeth, Anxiety forced himself to call, “I’m f-fine, get away from the fucking cliff unless you w-want to fall again.” 

Morality  _ did  _ back away from the edge of the cliff, but only long enough to grab Prince and Logic, then swing his head underneath his belly and tear his teeth savagely through the cloth that kept his wings trapped. After that he was right back at the edge, but this time he didn’t stop—he threw himself forward, flapping valiantly against the blustering wind, and flew. He slammed clumsily into the snowy bank in front of Anxiety not three seconds later, and Anxiety raced to make sure Morality hadn’t broken his goddamn fool neck.

But Morality, rather than standing placidly and letting Anxiety look him over for wounds, scrambled to stand and shake himself off and look at Anxiety instead—as though  _ Anxiety  _ was the one who had just thrown himself off of a cliff—

Oh, wait. 

After making sure that Morality wasn’t limping or bleeding or horribly maimed in any way, Anxiety allowed himself to be herded away from the river. As he turned back, though, he noticed a few bright spots of blood sinking into the snow where he’d been. The sight instantly rocketed his terror up  _ another  _ notch, and he quickly looked down at himself.

Morality spotted the wound before he did, if his little dragon-cry of alarm was anything to go by, but Anxiety saw it soon after him—there was a vertical tear in the leg of his jeans, and through it Anxiety could see his own skin, and—and his own blood. Gulping, Anxiety dropped back to the ground and rolled his pants leg up. Morality was instantly there, hovering and clicking his teeth with concern, and Anxiety had to shove his head out of the way to see his own leg.

There was a gash from the bottom of his kneecap to the middle of his calf, and it wept blood. The fabric of his jeans had already been soaked through, and bile rose in his throat. What if he bled to death? Or got an infection and died? And what if it started to hurt? Right now it didn’t—maybe it was numb because of the cold, or the suddenness of the thing. Anxiety didn’t particularly care, as long as it stayed that way.

Predictably, it didn’t. Almost as soon as he’d realized he was injured, he felt the sharp sting of his wound and hissed through his teeth. “Shit.”

Morality pushed forward, examining the wound with unhappy eyes before pulling the med kit from his harness. He dropped it in front of Anxiety and nudged it forward. With stiff, shivering fingers, Anxiety rifled through the pack until he found the poppy seeds and dumped a palmful of them into his mouth. He ground them between his teeth, feeling them stick unpleasantly to his gums and the roof of his mouth, and forced himself to swallow.

Unfortunately, the relief wasn’t instant—in fact, if Anxiety’s rather limited knowledge of herbs and medicines was correct, the seeds wouldn’t fully take effect for another hour or so. He regretfully resigned himself to that hour of misery and then turned his attention to his next priority: keeping his blood inside of his body, where it belonged.

When he turned to reach into the med kit again, however, Prince was already there, dragging the suture kit through the snow to lean against Anxiety’s shoe. Anxiety grimaced at the idea of putting a needle through his own flesh. “No. Let’s, uh—let’s try bandages first. I don’t wanna waste supplies if we don’t have to.”

Anxiety saw Logic—who had, thankfully, been tucked back into his pack against Morality’s stomach—moving in the corner of his eye, his head weaving back and forth to catch their attention. There was an uncertain set to his gaze, and Anxiety frowned at him.

“What? It’s not that bad. It doesn’t need stitches, and even if it did I don’t know how to—to do that stuff, and you guys definitely can’t.”

Prince, to Anxiety’s outrage—it was  _ his  _ decision, not theirs—waited until Logic nodded to push the suture kit away and retrieve a wad of gauze almost as big as himself. He dragged it from the kit and waddled awkwardly through the snow to deposit it into Anxiety’s palm. Anxiety pressed it over the gash in his leg and tied it there with a few wide length of cloth, ripped from their makeshift rope.

Once that was done, he leaned back and let out a breath—he didn’t want to watch and see whether he bled through the gauze or not, but worry was an unobliging master and it forced him to look back not a minute later. There, near the middle of the gauze, was a spot of red.

Goddamnit.

Morality whined, looking from Logic to Prince and then back to Anxiety. 

“It’s fine,” Anxiety said, although it wasn’t, it absolutely  _ wasn’t.  _ But, for once, worrying Morality wouldn’t gain them anything. What could he do that Anxiety couldn’t, after all? “We just, uh—”

Anxiety looked around them—the frothing river on one side, and a snow-encrusted forest on the other. What should he do? He was bleeding, he was cold, he was—

Wasn’t he cold? 

Frowning, Anxiety looked down at his hands again. They still felt stiff and stung with the bite of the cold, but they’d stopped trembling. _He’d_ stopped trembling. That wasn’t good. He wasn’t entirely sure _why_ it wasn’t good, but he knew it wasn’t. He shot a nervous glance in Logic’s direction and found the snake stretching himself forward. Morality obediently stepped towards Anxiety, although it nearly put him in Anxiety’s lap, and allowed Logic to examine Anxiety.

And the first thing Logic did, to Anxiety’s horror, was open his mouth and drive his terrifying little fangs through the front of Anxiety’s shirt. 

“What the hell?” Anxiety asked, pushing—albeit gently—against Logic’s head to get him off. “Let go.”

Logic pulled himself backwards, further into his pack, but didn’t let go of Anxiety’s shirt.

“Dude, don’t tear it. I’m already freezing, I don’t want to be—”

Oh. Oh, he was freezing, and keeping on his wet clothes wasn’t helping. He didn’t think being entirely fucking naked in the middle of a frozen forest would help, either, but—but maybe—“Okay, Lo, I get it. I can’t take it off if you’re biting it, though. Morality, did you leave my hoodie on the other side of the river?”

Morality hesitated, evidently confused, but when he saw Anxiety start to pull his shirt over his head, his eyes lit up with understanding. He backed away from the river and spread his wings, and Anxiety barely had enough time to realize what he was doing and shout, “No, no, wait a minute, that’s not what I—”

But Morality was already gone, clambering his clumsy way into the air. The wind blew him a solid twenty feet downstream before he reached the height of the cliff on the other bank and could land. Anxiety watched, breath caught in his lungs, as Morality raced back towards the place they’d been only minutes prior. He scooped up Anxiety’s hoodie and the remnants of their cloth rope, then flew back to land beside them again, eyes shining.

When Anxiety could breathe again, he said, “That is  _ not  _ what I meant.”

Morality cocked his head.

“I meant that if you  _ hadn’t  _ left it over there I would’ve taken it, I didn’t mean go  _ fucking risk your life again  _ to get it.”

Morality, damn him, only waved Anxiety off and smiled. Anxiety snatched his hoodie back and pulled it on—it was mercifully warm and dry, cutting out some of the wind’s fury. As Anxiety kicked off his jeans and untied their cloth rope to spread some of the tattered scraps over his legs, Morality conferred with Logic for a moment (an action which here meant, because of their mutual muteness, that they stared at each other until an agreement was somehow inexplicably reached) and trotted further into the forest. 

Morality returned with a scraggy stick, which he set proudly in front of Anxiety. 

“The fuck is that for?” Anxiety asked, attempting to scrub his hair dry with another piece of cloth.

Staring fiercely at the stick, Morality took a deep breath, opened his jaws, and spat flame. Anxiety jumped, and the stick blackened and crumbled under the onslaught, but it didn’t catch. Closing his mouth, Morality looked at Logic, baffled.

“I don’t know what you were expecting,” Anxiety answered for him. “It’s wet. Everything out here is wet, because it’s fucking  _ snowing.  _ Nothing’s going to catch fire.”

Logic nodded, although he looked unhappy about it.

“So let’s just—just think for a minute.” Anxiety blew warm breath across his fingers and tried not to think about frostbite and hypothermia and pneumonia and—and he needed to think about how to prevent those things, not just what would happen if he got any of them. They were in the middle of nowhere, but it would at least help cut down on the wind if they moved into the shelter of the trees, right?

“Come on. Let’s go over here.” Anxiety tried to stand, but his injured leg—and most of his stiff, chilled muscles—protested adamantly, and he stumbled to sit back down. Morality paced a circle around him, his breath coming in too-fast puffs, and chittered uneasily. “It’s fine, I’m just cold. Give me a minute.”

Prince came to stand on Anxiety’s knee, eyes bright with something that Anxiety thought just might be concern. 

“Don’t act like that,” Anxiety said, although the words were starting to slur together. His mouth was starting to feel numb. That didn’t seem good. “‘s not like you care. Get off. I have to stand up.”

Prince stared at him, something unreadable flashing through his gaze, before he slunk back to his place beside Logic in their pack. Anxiety struggled to stand again, even going so far as to lean against Morality when the dragon offered a shoulder to him. He managed to stagger a few steps through the snow, but it was utterly exhausting, and he sank back to the ground despite Morality’s encouragement.

It wasn’t good that he was so tired, he knew. It really wasn’t good—and it had happened so fast. The water and the wind chill definitely didn’t help. With his weariness came a strange sort of apathy. He’d never quite felt apathetic before. He was always worried about  _ something,  _ and he knew he should definitely be worried now, but he just felt sort of—of  _ eh.  _

The gauze, he noticed as he was sitting down and contemplating his distinct not-worry, had more blood on it then before. That should have made him feel nauseous, but it didn’t. That was nice. Being cold was actually nice. Imagine that. 

And then Prince was back, the fucker, although this time he perched on Anxiety’s shoulder. When Anxiety glared at him, he squeaked imperiously and pointed one paw towards the depths of the forest. “Yeah, I know. Working on it,” Anxiety grumbled. 

This time, he managed to stagger into the vague shelter of the trees before his knees buckled underneath him again. The snow made it difficult to walk, and the sluggish response of his muscles definitely didn’t make it easy, either. Morality stayed pressed close to him, allowing Anxiety to lean against his side until he sat down again.

“There,” Anxiety said, with a weary surge of victory. “Told you I could do it.”

Morality, for once, didn’t seem comforted by his unusual confidence. Instead, the dragon darted from his side and further into the forest, then back again, as though searching for something but unwilling to leave Anxiety to do it.

“Mo, c’mere.” Anxiety motioned him back, and Morality came to sit tensely beside him. “Don’t run around too much. Who knows what’s out there?”

There could be feral dragons, or hunters, or even fighting dragons coming to clear the way to Biol’s tower in advance of the Queen’s journey there. The Queen’s journey—shit. They really needed to get a move on if they wanted to make it to the city in time. But he was so  _ tired.  _ He knew that that really,  _ really  _ wasn’t a good thing, but what could he do about it?

Morality whined and coiled around Anxiety, pressing the warmth of his belly to Anxiety’s back as best he could. It helped some, but it also served to make Anxiety even sleepier, and he felt his eyes starting to drift shut. As soon as they did, however, Morality fucking  _ nipped  _ him.

Anxiety flinched and glowered—it hadn’t been hard enough to break the skin. In fact, it had only felt like a pinch, but a pinch still  _ hurt.  _ “The fuck was that for?” 

Morality moved away from him briefly—Anxiety huffed at the loss of his warmth—and then pressed his side to Anxiety’s back and shoved. Anxiety stubbornly pressed his heels into the snow and didn’t move and Morality whined again, clicking his teeth. He moved to stand in front of Anxiety instead, reaching forward to take one of Anxiety’s hands between his teeth and pull. 

Anxiety attempted to yank his hand back, but Morality’s jaws tightened—he was gentle, and his teeth never pressed hard enough to hurt, but he refused to let go. When Anxiety opened his mouth to protest, Morality levelled him with a chastising look and actually fucking growled. It was at that point that doing what Morality wanted actually became less exhausting than sitting around and doing nothing, and Anxiety grudgingly allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and led deeper into the forest.

The next few (minutes? hours? days? time had turned into a futile concept) passed in a blur of snow and being cold in a way that wasn’t quite cold and listening to Morality’s frantic whining. It wasn’t until he was lying down and liquid fucking  _ fire  _ was being poured over his leg that he really became aware of his surroundings again—and he became aware of them in a most unpleasant way.

The first thing he did was cry out, because  _ hello,  _ he was in  _ pain,  _ and whatever was causing it needed to  _ cease and desist.  _ The second thing he did was lash out, because whatever was causing him pain did not cease and desist, so he needed to get  _ awayawayaway  _ before it hurt him anymore. The third thing he did was the freak the everloving fuck out because his body wasn’t responding to him the way it should, and he was  _ trapped,  _ and he was going to  _ die. _

Then there was weight on his chest, pressing him back to the ground, and he struggled against it until he heard a low, familiar croon next to his ear. Morality. Relief washed over him and he allowed himself to go limp again, chest heaving. The pain in his leg was beginning to fade, and he pried his eyes open to see what had caused it.

Unfortunately, Morality blocked his view of, well—everything. He had flopped across Anxiety’s chest and stomach, a wall of bright scales between Anxiety and the world. His muzzle hovered inches from Anxiety’s nose and his eyes were wide and curious. “G’off,” Anxiety said, pushing weakly at Morality’s shoulder until he scrambled away and Anxiety could observe their surroundings.

They appeared to be in a ramshackle building of some sort—it was made of old, worn wooden planks, but it was sealed up enough to keep the wind and cold out. There was a row of stables on the far side, in which there were several scrawny horses. A tiny flock of chickens occupied the nearer side, although all of them were huddled together and appeared to be sleeping. The air, when Anxiety took a deep breath, smelled like warmth and manure and livestock. 

There were also blankets on top of and underneath him—horse blankets, sure, but blankets all the same. Four of their packed canteens had also been placed strategically around his body. There were two beside his neck, one on top of his stomach, and one on top of his abdomen. He halfway wanted to shrug them off, but the tantalizing warmth they gave off persuaded him not to.

“Where are we?” Anxiety asked, struggling to push himself up without dislodging the canteens. His limbs still felt weak and achey, and the tips of his fingers and toes stung, but he could  _ feel,  _ and that was good. Morality chittered unhappily at him, however, and placed a paw on his shoulder to urge him back to the ground, and Anxiety was too tired to fight him.

Morality didn’t answer his question, either, but only went to sit beside his leg again. The gauze had been removed, Anxiety noticed, and his skin gleamed wetly. There was the flask of alcohol they’d had in the med kit sitting on its side next to him—empty or least close to it, Anxiety presumed, if the medical stench in the air and the lingering sting in his leg was anything to go by.

Morality picked the flask up in his teeth and Anxiety flinched—what if it wasn’t empty and Morality poured more into his wound and it  _ hurt?  _ Something sad and sympathetic flashed through Morality’s eyes when he noticed, and he stuffed the flask back into his harness. He turned a critical eye to Anxiety’s wound after he had—it was still bleeding sluggishly, but not nearly as badly as it had been when they were outside.

Even so, Morality reached back into his pack and dropped the suture kit next to Anxiety’s leg. Anxiety cringed. 

“It doesn’t need stitches,” he insisted. “It’s barely bleeding anymore.”

Morality shook his head.

“Seriously. We don’t need to waste supplies—”

Morality growled unhappily at him, and Anxiety snapped his mouth shut. What was Morality’s  _ problem?  _ If anyone should be upset, it should be  _ Anxiety. _

“No, you don’t get to be mad at me.” Anxiety narrowed his eyes, and Morality glanced away. “I  _ told  _ you to stay away from the cliff, and what the fuck did you do?”

Morality shuffled his paws and refused to meet Anxiety’s gaze.

“You went back to the fucking cliff. Listen, I don’t tell you guys not to do stuff just to ruin your fun—I know that’s what you always think. I’m the bad guy, I’m the spoilsport, yeah, I get it. You need somebody blame, so it might as well be me. But I’m not  _ trying  _ to make you guys upset, okay? I’m trying to keep you from doing stupid shit—like falling off a  _ cliff— _ and getting hurt.”

It was easier to talk to Morality like this—he didn’t get the emotional whiplash he usually did when they were connected through Thomas, and Morality couldn’t talk back or give him the Disappointed Look. He could, however—and did—hunch his shoulders and give Anxiety big, sad puppy-dog eyes.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” Anxiety scowled at him. “It doesn’t matter, really. Just—just fucking listen next time, maybe?”

Before Morality could respond, Anxiety felt something jab his cheek and flinched away. Prince stood beside him, one paw extended, but he pulled it quickly back to his chest when he saw Anxiety watching. 

“And what do  _ you  _ want?” Anxiety asked.

Prince sat back on his haunches and straightened himself up, running his paws over his whiskers and ears and then taking a deep breath. He looked Anxiety in the eye, his expression solemn, and nodded once.

“I have,” Anxiety said, blinking at him,  _ “literally  _ no idea what that means.”

Prince sighed and, quite dramatically, flung himself to lay on the ground beside Anxiety’s arm. Morality, meanwhile, had slunk from Anxiety’s side to the great double-doors at the front of the barn.

“Morality, where are you going? And—” Anxiety glanced around only to have his fears confirmed. “And where’s Logic?”

Morality pointed at the chickens.

“The chickens—the chickens  _ ate Logic?”  _ Anxiety’s eyes widened and fear tightened in his chest.

Morality looked at him, startled, then burst into hoarse, dragon-throated laughter. He shook his head and ambled back to the chickens, poking one awake with a talon and nudging it aside. There, coiled amidst a clutch of eggs, was Logic. 

“But wait—won’t they—don’t chickens eat small snakes?” Anxiety asked, resisting the urge to scoop Logic up and carry him away from those tiny, feathery menances. 

Morality shrugged, and that did absolutely nothing to make Anxiety feel better.

As though on cue, however, the hen that Morality had awoken turned one beady eye in Logic’s direction. It clucked contemplatively, then darted its devilish beak towards him. Anxiety’s breath hitched, but Logic’s head whipped up and lunged at the chicken before Anxiety could freak out  _ too  _ much. The chicken squawked and fluttered away, momentarily checked by Logic’s false strike.

“Right,”Anxiety said, although he wasn’t entirely convinced that Logic was safe curled amidst a flock of creatures that would happily eat him if he let his guard down. “I guess that’s, uh, one way to keep him warm.”

Morality nodded proudly, dusted more hay over the dark loop of Logic’s body, and trotted back towards the doors.

“Hey, but wait, I still don’t know where you’re going,” Anxiety said, frowning. “I can go with—”

Morality shook his head and stood up on his hind legs to push up the board that held the doors shut. When he did so, the doors creaked open almost immediately and the cold crept inside. Anxiety shivered and sat up—he wasn’t just going to lay around while Morality up and vanished.

Prince leapt into his lap and patted his stomach once, as though to comfort him, and Morality looked very pointedly from Anxiety to the blanket Anxiety should’ve been lying on. 

“You can’t just expect me to sit here while you go back out there,” Anxiety said. 

Morality’s huffed, but Prince motioned him closer before he could leave. He pointed one paw at the dirt floor next to Anxiety’s legs, and Morality nodded and began to sketch. First he drew the barn—a large square next to a bunch of squiggles that Anxiety thought might be the forest. A few inches away from the barn, he drew a smaller square, and then drew a tiny stick-figure dragon walking in between them. 

“There’s another building beside the barn?” Anxiety asked, and Morality nodded. “You’re just going there? It’s not very far away?”

Morality shook his head, thought for a moment, and then pressed his talons into the dirt between the squares until there were twenty small, crooked circles there. Beneath that, he drew a rough sketch indicating that the dots equalled a—a blob of some sort. 

“What?” Anxiety asked.

Morality scrubbed out the blob and drew it again, more carefully, and this time Anxiety thought that it might have been a horse.

“So it’s twenty dots away? And dots are horses? It’s twenty horses away?” Anxiety asked.

Morality nodded.

“You’ve already gone over there?”

Morality nodded again.

“Why?”

Inside of the little square, Morality drew a person.

“There’s a  _ person  _ over there? And they know we’re here? Morality—no, no way. We have to go, we have to leave now. They’ll know who we are, they’ll contact the Queen’s guards and they’ll come and take us away and—”

Morality shook his head stubbornly, then patted the drawing and nodded approvingly.

“You can’t know that for sure. Not everybody can be as nice as you are, you know. Sometimes people want to hurt us and there’s nothing you can do about so we need to  _ go.” _

Morality shot a lingering look towards the doors.

“Were you not even  _ listening  _ to me five minutes ago? You always do this. You guys always ignore what I’m saying and it gets us into trouble and—”

With a frustrated cry, Morality pointed at Anxiety’s injured leg and then at the suture kit. He clicked his own talons together, glaring at them.

“I told you I  _ don’t need stitches.” _

Growling, Morality turned away from him and marched towards the doors.

“Morality—Morality,  _ no,  _ come back—”

But Morality was gone, bounding outside before Anxiety could clamber onto his feet. Anxiety limped in that direction— _ ow, fuck,  _ his leg still hurt like a bitch—and then froze. Prince scrambled up his hoodie to curl into the crook of Anxiety’s next, squeaking unhappily. Anxiety couldn’t go after Morality, and it would be pointless, anyway. The dragon was faster than him, and he’d reached the other building before Anxiety was even halfway there.

So Anxiety did the next best thing—he got ready to run as soon as Morality returned. He scrambled to grab his clothes, which were (thank god) drying on the ground beside him. After jerking them on, he snatched Logic out of the hen’s nest and stuffed him, along with Prince, into his hoodie pocket. Prince squirmed unhappily, nipping at his fingers, but Anxiety ignored him and scooped up one of the horse blankets, wrapping it around himself. 

Then he took a deep breath and faced the doors, determined that as soon as they got Morality back, the four of them were  _ gone. _


	10. Run Boy Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: blood, injuries, minor medical procedures, violence  
> chapter title is from the song “run boy run” by woodkid
> 
> beta’d by the amazing randomslasher!

Morality came back with not one but _two_ people, a fact which startled Anxiety into stillness for a second. Nevertheless, what had to be done had to be done, so he allowed his thoughts to be momentarily dominated his fight-or-flight reaction. Ordinarily, flight would be his primary choice, but the strangers were blocking his only way out—trapping him, they were _trapping_ him, like he was an animal caught in a fucking cage—so he’d have to go through them, and in that case—

In that case, he was going to need to fight.

Once he’d decided that (or, more aptly, once his adrenaline had decided that for him) the world seemed to sharpen and slow around him. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears, and he paused for only a brief moment to size up his adversaries. One of them was smaller than him, their head only coming up to his collarbone, and if the wrinkles and walking cane were anything to go by, they were elderly. The second one was larger than him by almost a full head, broad-shouldered and easy-gaited.

He was quick to decide which one he should fight his way through.

But there must have been something in his eyes—some predatory gleam, because he was a villain, a monster, right?—since as soon as he set his gaze on the eldest stranger, Morality leapt in front of them. He bristled his spines and flared his wings and Anxiety could almost _hear_ the disappointment that would have been in his tone, had he been able to speak. _Anxiety Sanders, how_ dare _you think about hurting someone like that. They’re only trying to help._

Help. Ha.

Even so, the glare in Morality’s eyes was enough to halt Anxiety in his tracks. He was _almost_ sure that Morality wouldn’t ever hurt him, but—but on the other hand, Morality was _morals,_ and it would grate against his very being to let Anxiety hurt another person, especially when he didn’t understand _why._

It was that brief moment of hesitation on Anxiety’s part that allowed the taller stranger to step towards him, hands up and palms out. They moved slowly and cautiously, but they were still intruding into Anxiety’s space, pushing him up against two unyielding options: fight or flight, fight or flight, _fight or flight._

And he’d already made his decision, hadn’t he?

He’d never been a particularly finessed fighter. Thomas had trained some, in both sword- and street-fighting, before he went on his fool’s errand to steal the Queen’s Stone. Most of that knowledge was stored by Logic and Prince, however. _Anxiety’s_ method of fighting was—was rougher. Meaner, messier, more primitive, nails and teeth and dirty blows.

Even so, he hadn’t expected to be beaten _that_ quickly.

The second he shifted his weight forward, the stranger lunged at him—they didn’t hit, but they _did_ push him backwards. He collided with one of the stall doors, and the horse inside startled, flinching away. Its hooves clattered noisily against the wooden walls as it kicked, and Anxiety tried desperately to squirm away from it, ignoring the ache that flared up in his weary muscles as he did so—scared animals were dangerous animals and dangerous animals were animals he didn’t want to be anywhere near. The stranger kept him pinned against the stall door, however, their hands trapping his, and Anxiety wasn’t entirely sure if they were addressing him or the horse when they spoke.

“Settle down and take it easy, chap,” they said. “We aren’t gonna hurt you or anybody else—your dragon over there—”

They were addressing him, then, unless the spooked horse was dealing in some strange shit. Which, hey, maybe it was. Who was he to judge? His best friends were three sides of a single personality who’d been turned into animals after trying to steal a magical rock.

“—came to us all in a fuckin’ fit and near about drove us mad before gettin’ us out here to check on you. So whaddaya say you sit down, let my gramma get a good look at your leg, and quit actin’ like some kinda spooked dog, huh? What good is gettin’ away gonna do you if you bleed out and freeze before you go more than half a mile?”

Anxiety ground his teeth, annoyed by the stranger’s logic. He could hardly stand to hear stuff like that from _his_ Logic, calm and rational and everything Anxiety wasn’t. It only reminded him of his shortcomings.

“Let go of me,” Anxiety said, struggling against the stranger’s hold on him.

“Why? So you can try’n hit me again?”

“Yes,” Anxiety spat. No—so he could get away because he hated being trapped, because he hated strangers touching him, because he was freaking the fuck out and didn’t want to stand still. Not that he was going to tell a stranger that. Fuck no. “Exactly, because I’m an idiot.”

“Well, you said it, not me.”

Before Anxiety could retort, he felt Prince moving in his pocket and glanced down. The rat was balancing precariously, halfway inside and halfway outside of his pocket. His fur was puffed out, back arched and teeth bared and eyes focused furiously on the stranger’s hands where they kept Anxiety’s pinned. Logic, too, had lifted his head just enough for Anxiety—and evidently the stranger, if their sudden recoil was anything to go by—to see him.

As soon as the stranger’s hands were off of him, Anxiety was quick to jump away from the stall. Helpless energy twisted in his muscles. He couldn’t run or fight to relieve it, so he fell to pacing. His legs protested the action—not only was one of them sliced open, but both of them were still attempting to recover from their half-frozen state. He ignored the low pain his movement caused, however, in favor of glaring first at the stranger, then at Patton, and lastly at the old woman still standing in front of the door.

“Well, come here, then,” the woman said, kneeling next to the blanket Anxiety had abandoned on the floor. “Sit down. Let me get a look at you.”

“Put your animals over there, first,” the younger stranger says, their voice cold.

“No.” Anxiety jammed Prince back into his pocket and glared. “They stay with me.”

“They’re dangerous.”

“They’re not dangerous, you’re just an idiot.”

“They tried to _bite_ me.”

“Oh, trust me, you would've known if they'd really wanted to bite you.”

“Himae, it’s alright. Let the lad keep them,” the woman said. “Now come over here. Let me see your leg.”

Anxiety hesitated—he didn’t want anyone to touch him, let alone his leg, let alone a stranger—but he didn’t see what choice he had. He knew that leaving in this condition was probably stupid, loathe as he was to admit it, and he wasn’t even sure that he would be allowed to if he tried. So—so maybe he could let these people fix his leg and then leave?

Even if it didn’t, Anxiety couldn’t see any other way. If he couldn’t escape easily, then he might as well play along until he could.

Anxiety grudgingly sat down on the blanket, keeping his injured leg pulled close to his chest. The woman picked up the canteens that had been keeping Anxiety warm and handed them to the other stranger, saying, “Go on and boil some more water for those. It won’t do to have him catching a chill again.”

“But what if he attacks you while I’m—”

“Why, I’m sure he won’t. Isn’t that right?” She looked hard at Anxiety, and Anxiety clenched his jaw and forced himself to nod. “There. Now, hurry up. Close those doors. You’re letting the cold air in.”

When the younger stranger had left the barn, the woman sat back and simply looked at Anxiety for a moment. He squirmed uncomfortably under her stare and finally said, “What? What are you looking at?”

“You look familiar, is all.” She dropped her gaze and shrugged a bag from her shoulder to the ground. “My name is Cylan, and my grandson’s Himae. Might I ask what your name is?”

Anxiety remembered a time when he would have been nervous about handing out his name, as he was when Biol had asked—but after everything that had happened in the last few weeks, it seemed remarkably unimportant now. “Anxiety,” he said.

“Well, that’s certainly a unique name. Do your pets have names?”

“Pets?”

The old woman—Cylan—gestured to Morality, then to Logic and Prince, who were poking their heads out of his pockets.

“They’re not pets,” Anxiety said, scowling.

“Ah.” Cylan reached into her bag and began pulling out sutures and—and—Anxiety gulped and looked away. “Do they have names, though?”

“Morality, Logic, and Prince,” Anxiety said, pointing at each one of them in turn.

Cylan arched an eyebrow. “You’ve really a knack for names.”

Anxiety’s scowl deepened. “I didn’t name them. They were—I’m taking care of them for someone, that’s all.”

The barn doors swung open again, and the younger stranger—Himae, was it?—re-entered, his arms full of canteens and bandages and bottles and—

And was that a fucking needle?

“I sterilized this for you.” Himae handed the needle to Cylan and set the rest of his supplies on the ground beside her.

“Thank you, darling.” Cylan set the needle aside carefully, then picked up one of the bottles he’d brought in. “I presume you haven’t disinfected the wound?”

“No, yeah, we did, we definitely did,” Anxiety said.

“Did you?”

“Yeah, we had alcohol.”

Cylan hesitated, but set the bottle aside again. “Alright. May I see your leg?”

Anxiety grimaced and Morality came to stand beside him, gently butting their heads together and chirring comfortingly. Slow and wary, Anxiety stretched his injured leg out and watched Cylan with suspicious eyes as she examined it. The second her hands moved to touch him, he flinched and pulled his leg back to himself.

“You do realize I’m gonna have to stitch it up, don’t you?” Cylan asked, pity in her gaze—wretched, awful pity. He hated it. “I’ll be as gentle as can be, but it’s gonna hafta hurt some in order for me to fix it.”

Seeing as it was his imperative as Anxiety to avoid pain at any and all costs, this was not an easy idea for him to swallow. However, even he could tolerate one pain if it meant avoiding a greater pain in the future—hence, he supposed, why he had allowed himself to fall off of the fucking cliff in the first place.

Still, reasonable or not, it was no easy feat to force himself to hold still as a fucking stranger poked and prodded at his wound. What if she messed up and hurt him for no reason? She didn’t even look like a qualified nurse or anything—she was obviously a peasant, with raggedy clothes and a coarse disposition. What if she made his injury worse? What if she was only trying to lame him so he couldn’t run if the Queen’s soldiers came to get him? What if, what if, what if?

And then _what if_ stopped mattering, because she jabbed a fucking needle into his flesh. Anxiety flinched again, breath hitching, and Morality set a paw over his hand. Logic and Prince both squirmed out of Anxiety’s pocket and moved down his leg to watch Cylan’s work with critical eyes—Cylan, to her credit, merely gave the two of them a bemused glance before shoving the needle through Anxiety’s leg _again._

Gritting his teeth, Anxiety pulled his hand out from under Morality’s and set it on top of the dragon’s paw instead, lacing his fingers around Morality’s talons and squeezing. Morality crooned and nuzzled his shoulder, eyes wide and unhappy. Well, he would just _have_ to be unhappy. This was his fucking fault in the first place—

No. No, blaming the others wasn’t going to help anything. Morality hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. Anxiety wasn’t sure he _could_ mean harm, even if he wanted to. Besides, there was a long chain of events that had led to this one miserable moment, so if he wanted to pinpoint exactly _whose_ fault it was, he would be thinking for a while.

It was easier just to blame himself. If he’d been more strict with Morality, if he’d be more careful trying to help Morality away from the cliff, if he’d worked faster or been stronger or smarter—if he’d been anything other than _him,_ they would’ve been alright. This—this pain and this fear—was nothing more than what he deserved.

Still, it was a fight for Anxiety to keep himself still as Cylan worked her way down his leg—everything in him howled for him to get away, to escape the pain and lick his wounds on his own, but—but he knew that that wouldn’t accomplish anything. And, he was discovering, when there was no one else to convince him to face his fears, he _was_ capable of convincing himself.

Not, of course, that he was going to be doing _that_ often.

It seemed like ages—long, terrifying, painful ages—before Cylan sat back and wiped her hands on her pants. “There you are,” she said. “Good as new.”

Anxiety warily cracked an eye open and looked at his leg—there was a line of neat, dark stitches climbing up his calf, and it made him want to throw up and sag in relief simultaneously. He was fixed, so he could stop worrying and the others could stop being so—so _weird_ about it. (They weren’t worried, they couldn’t possibly be worried. That was in his realm of emotions, and besides, they didn’t care enough about him to _worry._ Although, he _was_ important to their plan, so maybe that was it.)

“Just let me disinfect it one more time and—”

“No.” Anxiety quickly tucked his leg to his chest, curling protectively over it. “We already did that. It’s fine. I’m fine. Let’s just—are you gonna let us go now? Can we leave?”

Morality chuffed uncertainly and Anxiety shot him a glare.

“Well, it’s not in your best interests to—”

“Can we leave?” Anxiety asked, voice hard—he hated talking to people, especially when he was being _mean,_ but he really, seriously didn’t think he could tolerate being here much longer. It felt wrong—it was too convenient, and convenient things were to be scrutinized every which way before they were accepted.

Cylan rose to her feet and sighed. “Well, if you must. But at least allow me to pack along a bottle of the disinfectant, in case you change your mind. And you might wait until your clothes have dried completely—you oughtn’t to even be wearing them now, they’re still damp—before you go back out there. Do what you will, though.”

What Anxiety wanted to do was completely disregard her advice and run—but Logic was a sudden, tight coil around his wrist, and when Anxiety looked at him he was glaring. Prince, too, had narrowed his eyes at Anxiety, and the second Anxiety’s gaze flickered towards the barn doors, he squeaked imperiously.

Torn, Anxiety looked back at Cylan. He didn’t _want_ to stay, but—but maybe they were right. Again. He could get sick if he went back out in wet clothes, and that, too, was something he was designed to avoid. What if he stayed and something bad happened, though? Something just felt _off._ It made the air heavy and oppressive.

After all, these people could clearly benefit from a Queen’s ransom, if the state of their clothes and their slim numbers of livestock were anything to go by. And—and Cylan had said he looked _familiar._ What were the chances of that? Thomas had never been this far away from the city before. Then there was the easy way Himae fought. Anxiety wasn’t a bad fighter. He knew that. So how had a farm boy managed to defeat him so easily? Maybe he had training— _military_ training.

It was enough to make the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, but—but—well, he was probably just being paranoid. He’d been known to do that a little. (A lot. Constantly.)

“Fine.” He sighed and hugged his leg more closely. “We can stay for a couple of hours, but that’s it.”

Cylan smiled at him. “Very well. Here, take this. I’ve more inside. In the meantime, I can lend you some clothes to wear while yours dry.”

Once Cylan had left, Anxiety carefully packed away the bottle of disinfectant she’d handed him. His leg still hurt to walk on—the stitches hadn’t helped at all with that—but it wasn’t bleeding, either. It was still immensely disturbing to look at, however—he was _hurt._ He, alone, apart from the others, was _hurt._ That had never happened before.

To help press down those disturbing and alienating feelings, Anxiety tied more gauze over the wound to hide it. He wished he had genuine bandages, but he wasn’t going to ask Cylan for anything else. He was already indebted to her more than he’d like to be. It was with some misgivings that he even took dry clothes and disinfectant from her.

Still, he had to admit that having dry clothes was nice. It was strange to wear something that wasn’t his usual outfit, but he supposed it could’ve been worse. She gave him one of Himae’s tunics, trousers, and a pair of woolen socks. Once he was dry and warm and the gash on his leg had quit throbbing, the next few hours ground by slowly, and Anxiety began to question his personal wardrobe decisions. Most of his clothing dried quickly, but his _jeans._ By god, his _jeans._ They retained water like a—like a fucking camel or something. He was bored out of his mind waiting for them to stop feeling like a wet rag.

He had to admit, however, that he _was_ grateful for the time he had to warm up. He curled himself around the canteens again—they were even warmer now that they’d been filled with freshly-boiled water—and buried himself under one of the horse blankets as he waited. Logic and Prince stayed close to his side (and Logic, too, seemed utterly delighted by the canteens) and they watched as Morality paced the barn, chattering curiously at the chickens and the horses.

After an hour and a half had passed and Anxiety’s jeans felt no closer to dry, Cylan reluctantly agreed to let them build a fire in the barn, as long as they kept it small and far away from the animals. They cleared away as much hay as they could and kept a pot of water close at hand to keep it from spreading, watching as it flickered merrily at them. The shadows danced on the walls, and Prince stared at them, rapt. Anxiety wondered what he could possibly be seeing. Dragons? Witches? Dragon-witches?

The idea of that was almost enough to make Anxiety smile. It was nice. It was nice that at least one of them could see something great where there were only shadows.

Wait, no, stop—he didn’t think good things about _Prince._ They hated each other. That was the rule. That had always been the rule. But—but what if it didn’t _have_ to be? He loved Prince. He hadn’t been lying about that on the cliff. Prince was a part of Thomas, and oh, god, Anxiety adored Thomas. And, clearly, he had missed Prince when he was gone. So, fine. He didn’t hate Prince _that_ much, and Anxiety could admit he was a hell of a lot less annoying when he couldn’t talk. He was actually almost _nice,_ sometimes _._

Okay, but now he was getting ridiculous. Anxiety shook his head and looked back at the fire. The cold must be going to his head or something. (He did not acknowledge the fact that he was, with a fire at his front and a warm canteen cuddled in his arms, actually quite warm at the moment.)

Morality paused suddenly at the front of the barn, head cocked. Anxiety would’ve thought that he was examining something—termites or a rough patch of wood or something otherwise inconsequential—if it wasn’t for the sudden disconcertion in his eyes.

“What is it?” Anxiety asked.

Morality shrugged.

Anxiety got up and crossed over to him, looking closely at the barn doors. Morality shook his head when he saw and gestured to Anxiety’s ears. Anxiety held his breath and listened—he could hear the wind outside, and over it there was—there was something else. A low, rhythmic noise. It sounded vaguely familiar. It sounded like—

Like wingbeats.

Anxiety was instantly in motion, grabbing Prince and Logic and stuffing his clothes (including his still-wet goddamn jeans) into Morality’s harness. He kept Cylan’s spare clothes on for now. It wasn’t like she’d be needing them, if they got caught—the Queen would pay her handsomely, and she could buy all the clothes in the fucking world.

He threw the barn doors open before Morality could argue, just in time to see a silver fighting dragon land in front of them. His heart leapt into his throat—the wind must’ve made the wingbeats seem farther away, because Anxiety had thought they had more time than this. They could’ve gotten a head start, they could’ve been running already, but—

But the fighting dragon heard the creak of the barn doors, and its eyes locked with Anxiety’s. Shit. Anxiety scrambled backwards, grabbing Morality’s harness to haul him into the safety of the barn again. The fighting dragon followed them, lips peeling back from its teeth.

And Anxiety, despite his fear (or perhaps because of it) felt something like fury beginning to stir in his chest. He sure as fuck wasn’t going to go down without a fight—he’d just gotten the others back, and he’d be damned if they were stolen from him ever again. Besides, if he could survive a magical curse, falling off of a cliff, hypothermia, and the hellish procedure that was stitching, he could survive a fighting dragon.

Right?

The fighting dragon moved into the barn, ducking through the doorway. It snapped its jaws at him, its eyes glittering victoriously, and lowered its head to his level. “Well, now,” it said, “and here I thought the old hag was lying to me. However did you escape Biol?”

Anxiety backed away from it, skirting the fire and—

Huh. The fire.

“Morality, stay with me,” Anxiety said. Morality gave him a confused look, but Anxiety was moving before he could protest. This was stupid and crazy and something Prince would do, never Anxiety, but—

He steeled himself and lunged forward before he could change his mind, shoving his hand into the fire’s glowing embers. He flung them as quickly as he could into the fighting dragon’s eyes, ignoring the horrible flash of agony that seared through his palms and fingers as he did. “Come on, Mo—come on!”

The fighting dragon shrieked and drew back, shaking ashes from its eyes and pawing helplessly at them. Anxiety seized upon its distraction to bolt past it, Morality on his heels. They fled across the yard and into the meager safety of the forest again, stumbling through snowdrifts and listening to the outraged snarls of the fighting dragon behind them. As soon as they’d gone out of the dragon’s hearing range, Anxiety ground to a halt.

“Morality, c’mere, hurry up,” he said, waving Morality back to his side. The tiny dragon paced circles around him, breath coming in frantic gulps. “Listen to me, listen. It won’t be able to see well anymore, I think. Lie down in the snow and I’ll cover you. It should help mask your scent or whatever, and then you just have to be really quiet, okay? I want you to keep Logic, too. Don’t get any snow on him.”

Morality nodded quickly and Anxiety slipped Logic from his pocket into the pack on Morality’s harness. Morality flattened himself out behind a large tree, although he was careful not to put his weight on Logic’s pack, and allowed Anxiety hastily shovel snow across him until only his nostrils were free. When he was done with that, Anxiety did the same thing to himself several trees down from Morality’s hiding spot. He kept Prince tucked into his pocket—at least if the fighting dragon found two of them, the other two would be safe.

(It definitely wasn’t because Prince was comforting. That would be silly.)

He heard the fighting dragon as it lurched into the forest, its footsteps loud and clumsy. It was snarling under its breath and oh, Anxiety didn’t want to think about what would happen if it found them. The snow crunched under its paws as it drew closer, and Anxiety found himself trembling. What if he’d made the wrong decision? What if Morality and Logic and Prince were hurt because of him? What if he should’ve just surrendered? What if—

There was a sudden loud whoosh, and a blast of warm air above them. Was the dragon breathing fucking fire? What was even the point of that? Although, if they’d been standing anywhere close to it, then—

Well, he didn’t want to think about that.

The dragon blazed its way through the forest, all snarls and snaps and blasts of fire, but it didn’t find them. Anxiety waited until he couldn’t even hear its footsteps, until the forest around them was silent and still once again, and then he moved.

How long had it been? Fifteen minutes? A half-hour? However long it was, it was enough to strip away whatever warmth he’d managed to accumulate in the barn. He was shivering again as he went to fetch Morality, scraping snow away from his shoulders and wings until he could scramble free.

“You’re okay, right? Both of you?” Anxiety asked, looking Morality and Logic over. They nodded. “Great. Awesome. Let’s, uh. Let’s go.”

Prince climbed out of Anxiety’s pocket as he turned to walk—they had to get back to the river, get their bearings and get to the castle before the fighting dragon reported back and the guards around the Stones were doubled or tripled or fucking quadrupled. Before he could do any of that, though, Prince set a paw on his wrist.

Anxiety glanced down at him and was startled by the ugly burn Prince was examining. His palm and fingers were bright red and damp, although he didn’t think they were bleeding. Several blisters were forming, and his skin was streaked with ash. It didn’t hurt as badly as he thought it could’ve—maybe because of fear or snow or sheer luck—but it _did_ hurt, which was good, right? It meant it wasn’t a third-degree burn, at least.

Honestly, though, he was getting really sick of injuries, and they’d only been traveling for a day.

“I’ll wash it off in the river,” Anxiety said.

Prince looked up at him, frowning.

“What? We didn’t go that far from the river, did we? Morality, come on. I don’t know how we got here, so you’re gonna have to lead the way.”

Morality didn’t respond, and Anxiety glanced back at him, then paused. He hadn’t thought that dragons could cry, but goddamn if Morality wasn’t giving it his best shot. His shoulders were hunched, his wings pinned to his back, his eyes wide and watery and his front legs trembling.

“Hey, Morality, no, what’s wrong?” Anxiety asked, his gaze sharpening—was Morality actually hurt? Had Anxiety missed something looking him over?

Morality made a broken, warbling sound and looked back in the direction of the barn, then at Anxiety.

“No, no, it’s—it’s fine, really. You, uh. You actually did the right thing taking us there, I think,” Anxiety said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know I didn’t want to, but getting stitches definitely helped a lot, and hey—now my clothes are mostly dry, right? Except for the stupid jeans, but I dunno if they’ll ever dry out again at this rate. All of us are safe now, and that’s what matters. So. Thanks. And—and don’t be sad, alright? I’m not angry or anything.”

Morality and Prince both looked at him, startled.

“What?” He hunched his shoulders and glowered at the ground. “You guys were right and I was wrong. Big deal. I mean I _was_ kinda right, because we did nearly get captured again, but I guess everything worked out okay. So, like, whatever. We’re all wrong and we’re all right. Can we just get a move on?”

Prince patted Anxiety’s forearm with something like actual _pride,_ and Morality tugged on the bottom of his shirt until he crouched and allowed himself to be hugged. A few second later, Morality pulled back and headbutted him happily in the stomach before bounding further into the forest. Anxiety followed him at a distance, limping some on his injured leg. They were back at the river within ten minutes—albeit on the wrong side, but Anxiety wasn’t going to fuss about that until they were closer to the city.

This time, Morality gave the river a wide berth. He still explored, but he kept one eye on Anxiety as he did, and Anxiety was grateful for it—sure, it had taken falling off of a cliff and nearly being murdered by a fighting dragon, but maybe they’d all learned something. Maybe Thomas would be proud of them, when they got him back. Anxiety really hoped so.

He really, really hoped so.


	11. Tumbler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: violence  
> chapter title is taken from the song “tumbler” from the world of goo soundtrack
> 
> beta'd by the brilliant randomslasher! (who also kindly donated a few verbatim sentences to this chapter's cause! thank you again, friendo!!!)

The dragon coiled around the blue Stone was larger than the one that had caught Anxiety, although still well within the size range of a fighting dragon. It watched him placidly as he entered the treasure room, its tongue flicking out to taste the air and its eyes fixating on the large silver platter he wheeled in behind him. “It is about time,” it said, with an air of disapproval.

“My apologies, Sir Rubeck,” Anxiety said, bowing deeply, “and the apologies of the chef. It shall not happen again.”

“See that it does not,” the dragon said, reaching forward to snag the roasted beef from off of the platter. It threw its head back, swallowing the meat in a single gulp, much like Anxiety had seen Logic do from time to time. “At least it does not taste foul. You are dismissed.”

Anxiety bowed again and left, hauling the platter behind him. Once he had closed the door to the treasure room behind him, he let out a heavy breath.

Prince—who had refused to stay behind with Logic and Morality, and who Anxiety had finally admitted might be of  _ some  _ use inside of the castle—squirmed out of his pocket. He sat on the platter, fastidiously washing his whiskers and looking with approval at Anxiety—which was weird, because he  _ never  _ looked at Anxiety with anything like approval. 

“Well, that’s that done,” Anxiety said, pushing the platter into an empty closet they had staked out earlier and allowing Prince to hop into his palm. “Now we just have to hope it works.”

The potion they’d procured at the apothecary in the outskirts of the city—the one Logic had  _ insisted  _ they needed—had never been intended to, you know, knock out an oversized  fire-breathing  lizard. Logic, however, had seemed confident that it would work. Where Logic got this confidence, Anxiety had literally not the faintest idea. But it was some comfort that the potion didn’t have to work long—just long enough for them to execute the rest of their terrifying plan.

Chewing nervously on his lip, Anxiety turned to head back up the hallway—they could kill off half an hour or so hiding in the latrines, waiting for the potion to (hopefully) take effect. He winced at the first step he took, his borrowed trousers brushing against the stitched cut on his leg. It stung, but he masked his limp as well as he could. It would look strange for a member of the castle’s kitchen staff to be injured, wouldn’t it?

At the very least, he supposed he had (thus far, anyhow) avoided an infection. Actually, the rest of their journey had been rather uneventful—there had been no more falling off of cliffs or unpleasant dunks in freezing rivers or near-death experiences with fighting dragons. Whether that was because the others had  _ finally  _ started to listen to him (it had only taken them twenty-eight goddamn years) or because fate had grown bored of playing games with his life, Anxiety didn’t known—but he wasn’t about to complain.

Once they were safely squirreled away in the latrines, Anxiety stood in front of a dirty mirror to readjust his tunic—stolen from one of the kitchen staff—and smooth down his hair and trousers. He looked stupid, but at least he didn’t stand out from the rest of the guards and servants. The great green dragon emblazoned on the front of his tunic made sure of that.

Prince examined himself in the mirror, too, although there wasn’t much to adjust. He set about grooming through his fur, but was only halfway done when Anxiety stuffed him back into his pocket. He squeaked in offense, tail thrashing, and Anxiety said, “We don’t have time for you to preen, Prince Priss.”

They returned to the treasure room with another platter, this one loaded with the dragon’s dessert—black pudding and fried onions, ick—and slipped easily past the door guards. Once inside, Anxiety was relieved to find the dragon laying limply around the egg, fast asleep. Logic would be pleased. He made a show of talking, anyway, to make sure the guards outside didn’t suspect anything.

“Your dessert, Sir,” he said, moving closer to the Stone and watching the dragon’s eyelids warily. How deeply asleep was it, and what was he going to do if it woke up? “Compliments of the chef, as her apology for the unnecessary lateness of your dinner.”

When the dragon didn’t stir at his voice, Anxiety crept closer to the Stone. He hesitated to place a hand on it, remembering the agony of before, of being torn apart from himself. Prince leaned out of his pocket and set a paw on it instead, head cocked, and Anxiety smothered the part of him that wanted to yank Prince away—away from the Stone, away from the castle, away from everything bad and dangerous. 

A few seconds passed, and when nothing happened, Prince nodded at him. Anxiety immediately set about stripping the Stone of its jewels—a coat of chainmail embedded with sapphires, kyanites, and apatites to complement the Stone’s dappled blue color. Once it was free of the jewlery, Anxiety gingerly (very, very gingerly) pushed the dragon’s limbs away from it and turned it onto its side. He rolled it across the floor as quietly as he could, picking gems and colorful chains out of his way to make a clear path to the door.

After setting Prince on the ground, he cracked the door open just enough for the rat to squirm outside. He heard the guards’ voices as they noticed him, and then the sound of one being drawn away—okay, so maybe it was unrealistic to hope that both of them would follow Prince, but Anxiety  _ really  _ didn’t like physical confrontation.

What could he do about it, though?

Taking a deep breath, Anxiety snatched a couple pieces of silk from the ground and threw open the door before he could second-guess himself. The guard began to turn around to face him, startled, but Anxiety had the element of surprise, and he used it for all it was worth. He wrapped the silk around the guard’s mouth—once, twice—and then tied it into a knot, apologizing inwardly all the while and ignoring the pain that the movement sent flaring through his injured leg.

The guard elbowed him in the stomach, but Anxiety swept their legs out from under them and sent them to the ground before they could do anything else. With the second piece of silk, he bound the guard’s hands tightly behind them. He then dragged them to the closet where he had hidden the platter and shoved them inside, appeasing the wretched guilt that took its place in his stomach by saying, “Listen, I’m really sorry about this, it’s nothing personal.”

When that was done, Anxiety raced back to the treasure room and rolled the Stone out into the hallway. He moved it towards the large window at the end of the hall, looking over his shoulder with a growing sense of paranoia. Once he reached the window, he unlocked it and pushed it open, calling quietly, “Morality? Mo—Patton?”

A small dragon came trotting across the yard. He wore the armor of the Queen’s fighting dragons, but it was too big—the helm kept sliding down to cover his eyes, which twinkled merrily at Anxiety as he approached, snapping at the heels of the horse that pulled their, ahem,  _ procured  _ wagon along. It took a bit of maneuvering, but Morality eventually convinced (although perhaps  _ bullied  _ was a more appropriate term) the horse to back the wagon up the castle’s outer wall.

“Make sure you put the brakes on the wagon. If the horse gets spooked I don’t want it to get away,” Anxiety said.

Morality fumbled with the brakes, and once he had finished adjusting them, he reached up to grab a hold of the window sill and haul himself into the castle. His scales were still slick from his swim across the moat, and his talons gleamed in the blue moonlight as he rested them curiously on the Stone’s glossy surface. A snake poked its head out of Morality’s breastplate, head tilted interrogatively.

“We’re fine,” Anxiety said. “Your potion worked.”

Logic lifted his head rather proudly, turning to flick his tongue at Morality.

“Gloat later. Mo, put your shoulder up against the Stone. I’ll try to pull it up, and you push it forward. Once it’s in the window sill, just let it roll out. You’ve got hay in the wagon, right?”

Despite Morality’s confident nod, Anxiety stuck his head out of the window to peer at their arrangements himself. There was thick hay spread liberally across the bed of the wagon, and Anxiety certainly hoped that it would be enough to cushion the Stone’s fall. It wasn’t a long drop—maybe three feet—so he wasn’t too terrified about harming it. Still terrified, but not  _ too.  _

“Okay. On three. One, two— _ three.” _

Anxiety hooked his hands beneath the Stone and heaved upward—Morality helped him until the Stone’s side was pressed to the window sill, and then the dragon shoved forward, tilting its weight up and over. It wobbled in the sill for a moment, until with a final nudge from Morality, it rolled out and into the wagon with a muffled  _ thump.  _

“Great,” Anxiety said, letting out a breath. “Go make sure it’s okay.”

Morality leapt down into the wagon and looked the Stone over, then nodded at Anxiety.

“Okay. I gotta go, but make sure you keep that safe,” Anxiety said, gesturing at the Stone. “And don’t forget to disguise it.”

Morality nodded and began fiddling with the wagon’s brakes again. Content to let Logic and Morality take care of the first Stone, Anxiety shut the window and turned back to the hallway. He found Prince scurrying back towards him, fur on end but unharmed. He climbed up Anxiety’s pant leg, snuggling into his pocket, and the two of them set off for the next Stone—the one near the Queen’s throne room.

Luckily, Prince was small enough to fit through the castle’s many holes and windows without trouble. It was actually a quick procedure to find the next Stone. Prince slipped into the throne room through the barred windows and came back out several minutes later, squeaking enthusiastically and nipping at Anxiety’s heels.

It was significantly more difficult for Anxiety to get into the throne room. It wasn’t heavily guarded, since the Queen wasn’t currently there, but the door’s locked proved beyond his (very limited, and very recently learned) lock-picking skills. Instead, he was forced to use Biol’s parting gift: the acid, which made quick work of eating through the door’s locks.

He threw the bottle out of the window after that, wary of getting any of the acid on his fingers or clothes, and they ducked quickly into the throne room. Prince led him back behind the throne—a massive structure made of gold and emeralds—and through a trapdoor embedded in the slick tile floor. Once the trapdoor was open he allowed Anxiety to pick him up again, and they jogged down a flight of stairs and into a large, dark room.

Prince went creeping inside first, and returned to let Anxiety know that it was safe for him to proceed. Unfortunately, Prince’s idea of safe and Anxiety’s were completely different, because in the far corner of the room, there was a massive dragon—not a great dragon, but a large fighting dragon all the same. Its scales were bleached of color, riddled with gray scars, and its breath rattled in its lungs. A heavy chain hung around its neck and wings, staked to either side of the room.

“My god,” Anxiety said, turning to grab Prince and retreat back up the stairs—they’d need something stronger than Logic’s potion to deal with  _ that— _ only to find Prince was already bounding across the room, towards the dragon. “Prince.  _ Prince what the fuck.” _

Prince turned to look at him, motioning him forward with one small paw. 

“No. Absolutely not. Come back over here and we can go ask Logic what he—”

Prince rolled his eyes and turned back to the dragon, creeping towards its snout. 

“What are you doing? Are you even listening? Prince—Prince,  _ Roman.” _

Prince leaned forward, sniffing at one of the dragon’s forepaws, and Anxiety saw one of its eyes slide open—a milky pink color, roaming blindly around the room until it saw Prince. It jerked, startled, and Prince sprang back, much to Anxiety’s relief.

“What are you doing? Get out. Go away.” The dragon swatted at Prince, and he bolted back to Anxiety’s side, a safe distance away. The dragon’s eyes followed him, and when they landed on Anxiety, it immediately bristled its spines. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Anxiety stood frozen, gulping. This had not been part of the plan. He looked desperately at Prince—improv was his thing, right?—but Prince could only stare helplessly back at him. It was one of the few times Anxiety regretted being unable to hear Prince’s obnoxious voice. Swallowing hard, Anxiety attempted to straighten his shoulders and speak.

“My name’s—uh, I’m Anxiety,” he said, “and this is Prince.”

“Prince?” The dragon scoffed, stretching its head towards them. The chains around its neck clinked ominously. “You’ve named a rat Prince?”

Anxiety attempted to force an awkward smile. “Yeah?”

“And what are you and  _ Prince  _ here for? You have not brought dinner.” It looked upon them with something like chastisement, narrowing its eyes. “I suppose you have orders from  _ Her Majesty?” _

This last was said in a scatching tone, and Anxiety felt a spark of familiarity in it. It sounded like something Biol would say, and he clung to that tiny hope as he said, “Her Majesty? No. No, not from her.”

“I take orders from no other.”

“I have no orders.”

“Then why  _ are  _ you here?”

“I have a request,” Anxiety said, and then, steeling himself, added, “A request from the great dragon Biol.”

The dragon’s head drew back sharply, its wings flaring as much as they could against the chains. “Biol? I have nothing to do with him, at all.”

“I didn’t say you did,” Anxiety said, scrambling to correct his mistake. “I only—I’m only wondering if you might maybe want to.”

“If this is a way for Her Majesty to force my hand in betrayal, it shall not be done. I am loyal. I am the most loyal. If she wants to confront me about that, then she may do it herself, instead of sending a wretch like  _ you,”  _ the dragon hissed, lashing its tail. “I am no traitor. I am  _ not.  _ You cannot prove it.”

Anxiety held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay, it’s fine. But I don’t work for the Queen—I work for Biol. I promise. I’m not going to tell the Queen anything bad about you, alright?”

The dragon relaxed a bit, although it still eyed him warily. “Well, I am a servant of the Queen, and no other. There is no other to serve. Not while she has the Stones. Not while she holds sway over that monster Biol—why, she could set him on me in a heartbeat. She could set him on anyone. It’s a fool’s errand to defy her.”

But Anxiety heard—or at least, hoped he heard—something in its words, some  _ perhaps,  _ some  _ willing to be convinced.  _ So he took a risk, pressing his luck against all common sense and hoping that the chains around the dragon’s neck would hold if it decided it wanted to kill him, or if it truly were as loyal to the Queen as it insisted. 

“Biol is getting the Stones back, so that he can rule the kingdom, instead. She won’t control him anymore, and I know he wouldn’t hurt you if the Stones couldn’t be used against him anymore. We actually already have one of them,” Anxiety said, watching the dragon’s eyes widen. “If you can give us the Stone that’s here—it is here, isn’t it?—then we can free you. You shouldn’t be chained up down here, anyway.”

The dragon hesitated, then said, “Well, you cannot prove that you have any Stone, so I cannot trust you to free me. As though I even wanted to be freed.”

“Of course you do,” Anxiety said. “Nobody deserves to be kept like this. And I can prove it—Prince is actually a human, you know? He was cursed when we touched the first Stone, but I wasn’t. I can resist the curse. That’s why I’m here to get the Stones.”

“I heard rumor of that, but—but, well, how can you prove that that rat is not only a rat?”

It took a good deal of making Prince run around the room, performing senseless tricks, until the dragon was convinced that was he was human and not merely well trained. Then, and only then, did it consent to allow them to see the Stone. It was tucked between its forelegs, covered in several plates of silver encrusted with emeralds and rubies. 

“There,” it said, its tongue flicking out to touch the plates. “You must be careful. It is very delicate.”

Anxiety stepped forward and set a hand against the plates. They were so tightly overlapped that he couldn’t even see the Stone beneath them, but the dragon seemed impressed that he wasn’t cursed, even when he only touched the metal. “May I have it?” Anxiety asked.

The dragon took a deep breath, bowed its head, and said, “You may. Only release me from these chains first, or I shall break your neck before you leave.”

With that threat hanging over his head, there was little Anxiety could do but agree. “Fine, but you have to stay down here for a few more hours. We still have to get the last Stone, and then we have to escape, or all of this is for nothing and the Queen will still be in power and she’ll put you back in chains.”

After a moment’s contemplation, the dragon agreed, and Anxiety set about unlocking its chains. These were older, rusted, and easier to pick than the ones outside of the throne room. The dragon shook them off with utter joy when Anxiety stepped back, and he shuddered to see the chafed, raw spots the chains had left on its hide.

“Thank you, very much,” it said. “Now go quickly. I do not wish to remain here a second longer than I must.”

The dragon helped them roll the Stone up the stairs, then curled back into the room as they entered the hallway. Anxiety rolled it quickly to the closest window and called for Morality again. He came bounding from the hedges on the far side of the lawn and accepted the plated Stone with gentle paws. Logic bumped it curiously with his snout, looking over Anxiety and Prince to be sure they weren’t harmed.

“We’re still fine,” Anxiety said, taking a deep breath and glancing between the three of them. “Last Stone.”

He had never thought he would miss hearing Morality’s encouragement, or Prince’s optimism, or Logic’s rational confidence, but he did now. The looks in their eyes were almost enough, though. Prince crawled back into his pocket from the windowsill and the two of them took off again, heading back to the Stone that had started this whole mess.

Using the same late-dinner ruse they had in the other treasure room, they managed to knock the dragon-guard out and pry the orange Stone from its paws without too much trouble. They rolled it out to the window, where Morality took it and began moving it to the wagon. Anxiety hopped out of the window and followed him, breath caught in his throat—had they really done it? 

When the final Stone had been placed into the wagon, Morality slipped back into the shadows next to the castle. Anxiety watched him with bated breath, holding Prince just a  _ little  _ too tightly against his chest—but the rat wasn’t complaining. His whiskers were twitching enthusiastically, and he peered with great excitement as Morality spread his wings and launched himself into the air.

He was only aloft for a few seconds—any more and he risked attracting the attention of the guards patrolling the courtyard—before he landed on the edge of the castle roof. He disappeared, hidden by the turrets, and Anxiety longed to be wearing his hoodie. He couldn’t rub his thumb over that familiar soft spot inside of his sleeve when he was wearing this stupid tunic.

The minutes ground by, agonizingly slow, until at last they heard a thunderous crash from the castle rooftop. Morality appeared seconds later, leaping back to the ground and racing towards them. He leapt into the wagon, and when Anxiety had looked him over to make sure he wasn’t hurt, they were off.

Anxiety clambered into the coach’s seat with Prince as Logic and Morality crouched next to the Stones. He flicked the reins, the horse threw itself forward in the traces, and the wagon started moving, rolling towards the edge of the courtyard. The guards there paid them very little attention, focused on the sudden swarm of people inside of the castle, rushing to see what Morality had done.

They made their slow, agonizing way out of the courtyard, then out of the castle grounds, then finally out of the city itself. The entire time Anxiety was braced for shouts, for the twang of bowstrings and shriek of drawn swords as armored guards rushed after them—but no one even offered them a spare glance. There was a street dragon who peered curiously at them, the moonlight flashing ominously off of its irises, before it returned to rummaging through the trash beside a cobbler’s shop. 

Finally, impossibly, they passed through the city gates, and Anxiety had never before thought that a dark, overgrown forest could look welcoming—but fuck if this one didn’t. Once they were safely beneath the shelter of the forest’s branches, Anxiety could breathe properly again and he wrote out a simple message to Biol:  _ We have the Stones. Come get them.  _

He rolled up the tiny sheet of paper and stuck it into a canister, which he attached to the leg of the messenger pigeon they’d retrieved from the castle’s coop—the one trained to deliver messages to Biol’s tower. It cooed unhappily at him. “Sorry, buddy,” he said. “You get to go home now, though.”

He removed it from its simple cage and threw it into the air, watching it fly off in the direction of the tower. Morality came to sit beside him, Logic around his neck, and Prince took up his spot on Anxiety’s shoulder. Together the four of them watched as the night grew lighter, the moon sliding towards the horizon.

“We did it,” Anxiety said, and Morality bumped their heads together. He almost smiled.

They tossed tarps over the mud-smeared Stones and over themselves, curling up to sleep in shifts. Logic agreed to take the first watch, as he'd done the least moving around that night. He coiled himself up in his warm pouch, then poked his snout out of a small gap in the top, eyes glittering and alert in the waning darkness. Morality draped a wing over Anxiety, and Prince sprawled out in the space between their chests and closed his eyes.

They were, for the moment, safe. They had done it. As ridiculous and dangerous at their plan had seemed, it had worked out. Nothing had gone wrong. How strange that was. Anxiety was constantly waiting for something to go wrong, for the world to tear his life apart, but maybe this time, just this once, everything was going to be—

The sound of stones falling and wood snapping reached his ears even from miles away, and Logic hissed in alarm. Anxiety sprang to his feet, watching as Logic drew himself back into a defensive curve. In the distance, where the castle stood, he could see the silhouette of something against the sky—something horrendously large.

A roar split the air, tumbling over the city and into the woods, and Anxiety felt his stomach drop. “What the hell is that?” he asked, but before any of them could respond, the silhouette spread its wings, the faint dawn light glinted off of dark green scales, and he knew.

There was a great dragon at the castle.


	12. Over the Smokestacks, Over the City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: mentions of injuries, violence, panic attack, self-loathing  
> chapter title is taken from the song “over the smokestacks, over the city” from the little inferno soundtrack
> 
> beta'd by the wonderful randomslasher! 
> 
> now with incredible [fanart](http://pippa-frost.tumblr.com/post/164164749984/its-finally-finished-ahhh-it-took-me-so-long-to) by pippafrost!

Anxiety leapt towards the front of the wagon, scrambling to get into the coach’s seat. The horse was tossing its head against the bit, its eyes rolling wildly in fear. It was as eager to get away from the great dragon as he was, which was encouraging—that meant it would go faster, right? He knew very little about horses, but that seemed logical. He reached for the reins, but just as his fingers brushed the leather, he was shoved to the side.

Morality stood in front of him, paws clamped over the reins and wings flared from his sides. He leveled Anxiety with a stern look before pointing his muzzle insistently at the city.

“What?” Anxiety asked, following his gaze. He could see the great dragon moving away from the castle, and the noise of it reached his ears—stones crashing together, metal clanging, the distant screams of horses and humans. “Yeah, I know. We have to get away from that.”

Morality shook his head, springing forward to tug gently on Anxiety’s sleeve with his teeth. He pulled him off of the wagon, farther into the woods, and jabbed a talon in the direction of the city again. The tone of his persistent chirping was familiar—instruction and encouragement at once—but in his fear, the lack of words was a gap Anxiety couldn’t easily breach.

“What? You want to go to the city?”

Morality nodded.

“Why? It’s safer to go farther away. The dragon will have to go through the city to get to us,” Anxiety said.

Morality stared expectantly at him.

“So we should go _away_ from the city.”

Morality shook his head again and trotted back towards the wagon. He stretched onto his hind legs, holding out a paw for Prince to climb into and placing him into the pack, next to Logic. Then he returned to Anxiety’s side and headbutted him in the leg, urging him towards the city.

“No,” Anxiety said, digging his heels into the snow and glowering at them. “That’s the exact opposite of what we should be doing.”

Morality huffed at him, and the disappointment in his eyes stung.

“I don’t get it, okay? Whatever you guys are trying to do, _I don’t get it._ Big surprise, right? And I don’t want to get it, either. Whatever makes you want to go back to the city, it’s stupid. Do you remember what happened the last time you forced me into one of your schemes? Remember the last time I told you not to do something and you did it anyway? And look where that got us,” Anxiety said, glancing pointedly at his injured leg and flexing the fingers of his burnt hand. He felt a smidgen of guilt upon seeing the sudden shame that flooded Morality’s eyes, but he choked it back—so be it, if that was what it took to keep them safe.

“So now it’s your turn to listen to me,” he said. “We have to head away from the city and wait for Biol to come find us. If anyone can fight that other dragon, it’s him.”

Morality looked away, as though Anxiety’s _cowardice—_ and that was what he thought of it, that was what they _all_ thought, he knew it—hurt him to see. Prince squeaked at him, tail lashing in frustration, and even Logic looked at him with disapproval. Why couldn’t they understand? Why did they always want to go haring off, throwing themselves into danger, and for what?

“Why?” Anxiety demanded, his mind clawing desperately for an answer. He just couldn’t understand them. Why couldn’t he ever understand them? What made them so fucking different? “Why would you want to go back there?”

Morality dug a claw into the snow and carved out words in his slow, stumbling way. _people will need help._

Oh. _Oh._

Of course something like that wouldn’t have occurred to him. That was a noble idea, and he—he was the least noble of them all. He was a terribly selfish creature. He could see how the idea of rescuing the city would appeal to Morality, and to Prince, and perhaps even to Logic, but to him—to him it was utter stupidity. What did a stranger (or even a million strangers) matter, when compared to himself, or to the other sides?

He really made himself sick, sometimes.

“I can’t agree with you,” Anxiety said, forcing himself to meet their eyes. “I _can’t._ I can’t encourage you, or support you, because to me—to me, that’s a ridiculous idea. We should keep ourselves safe. What good can you do, anyway? A street dragon, a rat, and a snake? Only one of you is even big enough to do any kind of fighting, and we don’t know if Logic is venomous or not. So you have my decision. We should go farther away.”

Prince hesitated, one paw drawn uncertainly to his chest, before he reluctantly dropped his gaze from Anxiety’s and turned his back. Logic, too, looked away from him, coiling up more tightly in the pack. But Morality—Morality looked at him with something like sudden understanding in his soft eyes. _u protect stones,_ he scratched out.

Anxiety glanced back at the wagon, then at Morality again. “What are you talking about? _We’re_ going to keep the Stones safe. Together.”

Morality shook his head resolutely and pointed a talon at Anxiety, then at the Stones.

“No!”

Morality looked up at him, wide-eyed, as startled by the volume of his voice as Anxiety himself was.

“No,” Anxiety said, forcing his voice back into some semblance of calm. “You can’t do that. We can’t split up. If any of you are killed, it’s not just _you_ you’re killing. It’s _Thomas._ How long do you think he can live without Logic? Or Morality? Or hell, even Princey? And once he dies, we’re all dead. It’s not just your lives that you’re throwing away. It’s _ours.”_

Close enough to what he was thinking, and not a lie, either, although his actual fears ran something more along the lines of _oh god don’t leave me alone anymore._ He had only just gotten them back—what was he going to do if he lost them again? And what was he going to do if he lost them permanently?

It had never been something he’d had to fear before. They had never been able to separate before. They could retreat to their own rooms in Thomas’ mindscape, of course, but that was entirely different. They were still _together._ It was bad enough to be split from them like this, forced into the physical world, where he couldn’t hear the constant hum of their minds, but to be split apart (and willingly!) in the physical world _and_ forced to watch the others put themselves into a life or death situation—

It made him feel sick.

But—but on the other hand, if they left him here, he couldn’t hold them back. He couldn’t bother them. He couldn’t tear them down anymore than he already had. They wouldn’t be scared. They would be—they would be happier. (He knew it. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew it.)

Morality edged towards him, crooning low and concerned in his throat. Anxiety shook himself off and swallowed hard, forcing words through his teeth and trying not to panic as he did. “No, sorry, forget that. It’s—you’re actually probably right. Thomas wouldn’t be happy to sit around and let people die, especially when it’s our fault that dragon is running around the city in the first place. You should—you should go. I don’t want Thomas to hate himself anymore than he has to because of—of what I kept you guys from doing. I’ll keep the Stones safe.”

Morality hesitated, worry in his eyes, but Anxiety waved him off in the direction of the city.

“Nothing I say will make you stay here, right?” he asked. “So go on. Just—go.”

As he turned away, Morality nudged Anxiety with something sickeningly like gratitude. Then the three of them were gone, bounding off into the woods—and towards the great dragon tearing its way through the city. Anxiety watched them go until the dawnlight ceased to reflect off of Morality’s scales and too-big armor, and then he proceeded to panic.

He just managed to limp back to the wagon and climb into it, curling up next to the Stones, before fear locked all of his muscles into place. His breath clogged in his throat, fast and hot, and his heart drummed unforgivingly against his ribcage. Panic was a bright, fierce thing in his mind, eating away all of his rational thoughts and lashing out savagely against his body.

_You let them go. You just let them go,_ his mind hissed. _How could you? It’s your job to keep them safe, and you just let them throw their lives away. For what? So they can be_ heroes? _So they can feel good about themselves? What does it matter how they feel when they’re dead? What an idiot you are._

But what else could he have done? The Stones had to be kept safe, right? And he couldn’t very well stop the other sides from going, if they were so dead-set on it, without being a jerk and—and physically forcing them to remain here. In theory, he could have shoved Logic and Prince into one of the crates in the back of the wagon, but Morality would have been harder to control.

And besides, he wasn’t _that_ much of an ass. If they wanted to go so badly, then what right did he have to stop them? He was always making them unhappy, manipulating Thomas to work with him instead of them. Now that they didn’t have Thomas to make a collective decision for them, it was only fair to let them make their own.

_Even at the cost of their lives? Even at the cost of_ yours? _Or worse, of_ Thomas’ _? What kind of protector_ are _you? Worthless—absolutely worthless._

But he wasn’t a protector, was he? He hadn’t been a protector for a very long time. He had been the one they needed to be protected from. He had been slowly killing them for years—mocking Thomas’ dreams, nit-picking his rationale, smothering his optimism under _fearfearfear._

And what was a dragon, compared to that?

Tears pricked at his eyes, and he wiped them away furiously. As though he had any right to cry. This was all his fault. He hadn’t been able to stop them from going after the orange Stone that first day, all those weeks ago, and he hadn’t been able to stop them from going after the great dragon, either.

Guilt was a vise around his chest, crushing his ribs into his lungs and making his stomach churn. And what was he supposed to do now? Sit here and wait while they killed themselves? Protect these stupid goddamn Stones? What did the Stones matter, when compared to the other sides? If Morality and Prince and Logic died, the Stones would be utterly worthless—everything would be utterly worthless.

But what else could he _do?_ He couldn’t convince them to leave the city, and there was nothing they could do inside the city, but—

He still had to protect them. That was his _job._ So why wouldn’t they let him do it? Why wouldn’t they just let him keep them _safe?_ Why did they always have to run off, why did they always have to fight him, why—

Why?

Anxiety lifted his head, blinking rapidly. An idea was blooming in the back of his mind, bright and new and terrifying. Was it because—because maybe protecting them wasn’t about keeping them away from danger all the time. Maybe danger was sometimes—sometimes necessary?

That sounded ridiculous. That went against everything he’d ever thought ever. Danger? Necessary? Danger was—was _dangerous._ It meant possibly getting embarrassed, or hurt, or _killed,_ and he didn’t want that for the others or for Thomas. It grated against his very being.

But going to the stables after he’d been injured in the river had been a risk. It had been dangerous, but—but it had been necessary. So maybe it was possible that sometimes going into danger was—was the right thing to do?

Then what was the point of—of _him?_ If he didn’t need to keep them away from danger, why did he exist? Was he really only holding them back? Was he really just something born to torment Thomas?

But no—no, he couldn’t believe that. As much as he loathed himself, he—

He had _helped_ them. He’d gotten them away from the fighting dragon at the barn, right? He’d kept Morality from falling into the river. He’d helped them come up with a plan that had allowed them to break into and out of one of the most heavily-fortified buildings in the kingdom—the Queen’s castle.

So what if it wasn’t about keeping them away from danger all the time? What if it was about—about helping them get _through_ danger? He had to admit that living the life he wanted for them, it wouldn’t—it wouldn’t be good. As much as he wanted to keep them safe, he couldn’t keep them in a fucking cage. They weren’t animals—

Er, well, usually.

The point was, he couldn’t control them every second of every day. That would ruin them. But maybe he could work _with_ them. Maybe he could learn to—to trust them, to listen to them, to help them accomplish what they wanted (but in the safest possible way). And maybe, just maybe, if he started listening to them—if he started showing them that he was willing to yield to them, if only they heard him out first—they would start listening to him, too. And then he could advise them. He could help them. He could—

He could start being brave, like they were.

But he couldn’t do that if he let them run off alone. Maybe he couldn’t stop them—and maybe he didn’t need to, maybe he _shouldn’t—_ but he could definitely be there to help them, because that—

Well, that was his job, wasn’t it? Not holding them back, not smothering them, but _helping_ them.

What about the Stones, though? He couldn’t just leave them here. Anybody—any _thing_ —might just come by and steal them. That, judging by the amount of the power they held, would be extremely consequential. Forcing himself onto his feet, although his legs trembled under him, Anxiety hopped out of the wagon and moved deeper into the woods.

He scouted out three places—a little hollow by a small, frozen creek, a nook in an old locust tree, and a divot between a pair of oaks—and carefully rolled the Stones into them. He tossed snow-encrusted moss and branches over them, sticking foliage into the mud Morality had pasted onto their surfaces earlier, and forced himself to be satisfied with that. The longer he stalled, the more likely it was that the other sides were being hurt.

Once the Stones were hidden, he returned to the wagon and fumbled with the horse’s harness until he had unhooked it from the traces. It had calmed some, although spit still foamed around its bit and sweat lathered its hide. Anxiety set a hand on its neck, felt it shiver, and said, “You and me both, pal.”

It stood still as clambered clumsily onto its back—Thomas had ridden once or twice before, but never on a horse with a harness instead of a saddle—and folded its long reins up onto themselves. He could feel the tension in its muscles, and its ears were flicking unhappily as he urged it away from the wagon and into the woods—towards the city.

Oh, god, but he was probably going to regret this.

The horse was more than happy to go plunging into a gallop when he gave it its head, although it kept trying to veer to the side and away from the city. He more than understood _that_ impulse, and was tempted several times to let it have its way and take them both far away. But no—no, he had to find the other sides. He had to protect them. That was his job, and he was shit at it, but damned if he wasn’t going to try.

They entered the city a few miles away from the castle, so most of it was still intact. The farther they went, though, the worse it got—people were flooding the streets, their hands crammed full of boxes, followed closely by horses and dogs and frantic street dragons. Several shops had already been torn down, though not by the dragon, but the populace. Glass littered the ground from broken windows, and a few buildings had flames licking out of their doorways.

The dragon had not yet turned its fury on this half of the city, for which Anxiety was grateful. It appeared not to be bent on destruction quite yet—actually, it seemed to be waiting. It had paused in the shambles of the castle to shake broken rafters and dust off of itself, and to look around.

Looking at it, Anxiety was amazed at the similarities between Biol and itself—both were massive, with manes and antler-horns and muzzle-tendrils. This one, however, had a hide of dark green and a mane of crimson. A large burn scar wrinkled the flesh of its flank, and when it rose onto its back legs to observe the city, he saw several other scars on its belly.

It roared—a sound more of fury than of purpose, and quite distinct from Biol’s—and stepped suddenly, moving further into the city before stopping and looking again, swinging its head low to place one enormous red eye close to the ground. It had to be looking for the Stones. That, at least, meant that perhaps Morality and the others would be safe, for a while. He just had to find them quickly, before the dragon turned its attention to their portion of the city.

Anxiety squeezed his knees to the horse’s side and urged it forward, attempting to reason out where the other sides would have gone. Morality was the one carrying the other two, so if he could figure out where Morality would have gone, he could find them all. Morality—Morality. Right. Thomas’ heart, his goodwill, his emotions. He was a humanitarian. He would have gone where people needed help.

So—hospital. There were lots of relatively helpless people at hospitals, right?

The horse carried him that way at a quick trot, its hooves clacking noisily on the cobblestone streets, weaving its precarious way through the frightened crowd. Its ears swiveled nervously in every direction, and Anxiety tucked one hand under the forked neck strap of its harness, willing it not to throw him.

Luckily, since it had been working at the castle when they found it, it appeared to have adjusted to being around chaos. It still had absolutely no desire to go closer to the great dragon, but it seemed reluctant to fight him about it—at least, as of now. He had a feeling its training wouldn’t hold out if the great dragon started moving towards them.

They reached the hospital within minutes, and Anxiety quickly picked out Morality—he was easy to spot, with his strange blue and gray coloration. He appeared to be helping the nurses move supplies from the hospital to a large wagon outside of it, his armor having been exchanged for another carrying harness. It was too large for him, too, made for a fighting dragon, but the nurses and doctors seemed to have no qualms using a street dragon if it suited their needs.

“Morality!” Anxiety shouted, relief swelling in his chest. Morality’s head whipped around and he rose onto his hind feet, wings twitching with surprise, as Anxiety pulled the horse to a stop in front of them. He slid off of its back and threw his arms around Morality’s neck—they were alive, his friends were alive, his _family_ was alive. He hadn’t ruined everything. _Thank god._

Morality chirped happily, nuzzling Anxiety’s neck before drawing back. Logic—who had been placed in a pack along with bandages and other hospital supplies—was staring curiously at him. Prince, who sat on Morality’s back, appeared stunned, and Anxiety—

Anxiety was no knight in shining armor, and his horse wasn’t white, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to face down the dragon, but—

But for a minute, with their approval, he felt like maybe he’d done something right.


	13. Fight for Ruin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title taken from the song “fight for ruin” from the don’t starve soundtrack  
> warnings: violence, injuries, blood, mentions of death
> 
> beta'd by the remarkable randomslasher!

They spent a solid two hours helping move patients and supplies from the hospital to the evacuation route, after Anxiety had explained the situation. Morality had been concerned about the Stones being left alone, but after Logic agreed that Anxiety had hidden them adequately, he relaxed. The dragon moved ever closer as they worked, sifting its way through the city with meticulous care—it only ever brought a paw down after it had scanned the buildings in its way. 

When it did bring a paw down, though, it did so with utter fury. Its talons carved through buildings and roads, and the weight of it crushed any animal or human in its path. Anxiety was terrified that it would breathe fire into the city, but evidently it decided against that, lest it accidently set fire to a building the Stones could be kept in.

Anxiety kept a close eye on its progress as it drew nearer to them, but most of his attention was taken up by the frantic patients as they were transported to the wagons. His own panic fed off of theirs in a maddening loop, and it was all he could do to keep himself upright and moving when he was around them.

Unfortunately, his attention was quite roughly reorientated when a massive paw came down right beside the hospital, sending shards of wood and glass flying in their direction. Morality leapt at Anxiety, sheltering him, along with Logic and Prince, as best he could under his wings. Anxiety was frozen in shock for a moment—the dragon hadn’t been that close, he had been  _ watching,  _ they had had at least another ten minutes—

When the hail of debris had stopped, Morality allowed them up. Anxiety saw, horrified, that there were splinters of wood in the delicate membranes of his wings, and fine cuts that leaked blood as he flapped to rid himself of the dust that had settled on his shoulders. “Your wings—”

Morality gave him a rather forced comforting look before shepherding them all in the direction of the wagons. Behind them, Anxiety could hear the awful noise of the great dragon’s breath, of its body shifting, as it turned an eye towards the hospital to glance them over. But he didn’t look back—if he looked back, he wasn’t sure he would be able to keep moving forward.

Before they reached the shelter of the wagons, however, the dragon made a rumbling sound, and Anxiety saw the shadow of its paw sweeping forward. Five gleaming black talons came down around him and Morality, forming an effective cage as the dragon leaned forward to look more closely at them. He felt the hot breath of it on his back, ruffling his clothes. The scent of rosewater and blood hit him and bile rose in his throat. It was not at all like being held by Biol. Not at all.

“You,” the dragon said, its voice low and rasping. “It is  _ you.” _

The dragon lifted its paw, and Anxiety immediately bolted forward with Morality, only to be plucked up by the back of his tunic. He froze, almost instantly brought to a height that would kill him if he were dropped. Morality shrieked, rearing up, flapping his injured wings helplessly and reaching after him—but he was hardly the size of a large dog, and the great dragon paid him no mind.

Instead, it sat back on its haunches, unrepentantly crushing the hospital beneath it—the fucking  _ bastard— _ and dropped him from its teeth to the cup of its paws. He spun to face it, stomach roiling with fear, and was met with a face full of teeth and malice. Its muzzle-tendrils lashed wildly with agitation, its lips pulled so far back that he could see the oily black of its gums.

“You were the demon that tried to steal the Stone,” it said. “I recognize you. And you have done it now, haven’t you? All three of them. Where are they?”

“I don’t know,” Anxiety said—to let this beast bring the Queen back her Stones was unthinkable. Not when they were so close to victory.

“Then you are of no worth to me. I shall eat you.”

Correction: unthinkable  _ unless  _ his life was threatened. “Okay, okay, alright, I know where they are.”

“And where would that be?”

“What proof do I have that you won’t just eat me when I tell you?” Anxiety said, his mind whirling—he was no Logic, but he  _ was  _ pretty good at manipulating situations to make them seem disadvantageous. (It was one of the many, many things Thomas disliked about him.)

“You have none,” the great dragon said. “But you shall definitely have proof that I  _ will  _ eat you, if you do not tell me, and quickly.”

“If you eat me, how will you ever find the Stones?”

“I will keep looking for them until I do. It has only been a few hours since they were stolen. You cannot have hidden them far.”

“Well, what if it wasn’t  _ just  _ me who hid them?”

The dragon hesitated, its eyes narrowing to slits of red. “And who else could have helped you? No one else has resisted the curse.”

“My partner did, and she escaped with the Stones,” Anxiety said. “I distracted your dragon guard while she ran.”

“You lie.”

“You can think that, if you’d like. Think that and eat me and never find the Stones, because she’s running away with them as we speak. But I can tell you where she’s going. Let’s make a deal.”

“I do not make deals with demons like  _ you,”  _ the dragon said, its tail lashing through several broken buildings. “I shall send you to my torturers, and I daresay you will talk within the hour.”

“And where can the Stones be in an hour? There’s a port right next to the city—they could be on ships, out to sea. A wave could throw over the boat. A sea-serpent could eat them. They’d be lost to you forever.”

The dragon hissed, its mane bristling. “How dare you suggest something like that.”

“Or maybe not.” Anxiety spread his hands, shrugging. “Who knows? Any manner of bad things could happen. They always seem to, but maybe that’s just my particular view of the world.”

“What deal do you propose, then?”

Anxiety hummed, tapping his chin thoughtfully and attempting to appear unaffected and in-control, which he certainly was not—the dragon didn’t need to know that, though. “Well, first, you have to stop destroying the city. Innocent people don’t need to die because of what we’ve done.” Morality would approve of that demand, right?

The dragon scowled. “Fine.  _ If  _ I find the Stones. If I do not, I shall continue to destroy it until I do.”

“Fair enough. Second, you have to help build the city back up.”

Snorting, the dragon said, “Well, I have never been good at building things, but I might hire some construction workers to see it done.”

“Third, you must promise not to kill me, or harm me in any way, once I have given you the Stones.”

“You have my word.”

“Your word means very little to me. I insist on a more binding form of promise,” Anxiety said, folding his hands behind his back and lifting his chin like he’d seen Prince do when he was feeling particularly cocky. 

“Like what?” the dragon said, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Well, I have reason to believe that a curse, should either of us fail to uphold our end of the bargain, might do quite nicely. There is a powerful magician in the Queen’s court, yes?”

* * *

“And the curse shall be as the one on the Stones was: should either of us fail to uphold our end of the bargain, we shall at once turn into the creature we hate most. Make a substitution, though, that ensures this demon shall be affected, since it resisted your previous curse. Also, the Stones must be retrieved within two hours of the curse being applied.. I will not be dragged around with the threat of a curse for years,” the great dragon said. It was in quite a surreal position, hunched in front of a wizened old woman with its whole self held quite carefully in the debris of the castle.

“Also make a substitution that we shall not turn into any large creature, and we shall not have any destructive powers or abilities,” Anxiety added, ignoring the slanted look the dragon gave him.

“No destruction, got it,” the magician said, jotting her quill across a piece of paper and murmuring quietly to herself. “We’ll have to reword here and there—magic can be quite fickle, you know—but I think it can be done. Only give me a few hours, and a spot of tea, hm?”

Grudgingly, the dragon motioned for a servant it had picked up in the city to prepare a pot of tea and lay back against one of the shattered castle walls to wait. Anxiety sat on the opposite end of the destroyed room and sipped on a mug of hot tea when it was offered, grateful for the strength of the taste and the way it tore his mind—for a few brief, precious seconds—from worrying.

The sun rose higher and higher into the sky as the magician worked, curled over her papers and muttering in a language Anxiety couldn’t understand. Latin? Draconic? Elvish? Some secret, magicians-only language he couldn’t learn in a million years? He only knew that it made him nervous, listening to her, as though she could be cursing him at that very moment and he would have no idea.

When midday came, the dragon began to tap its talons impatiently against the ground.  _ Clack-clack-clack-clack.  _ The noise crept up Anxiety’s spine and into his head, grating unpleasantly against his thoughts.  _ Clack-clack-clack-clack.  _ He wanted to snap at it to stop, but he wasn’t that brave—not by a long shot—so he only hunched his shoulders and willed the day away. He didn’t want the magician to hurry, though, even if it meant that the dragon would stop clicking its talons.

No, because what he needed was time—he didn’t  _ want  _ to be cursed, although if everything worked out and Biol took the Stones, he figured the magician could always reverse its effects. But the longer she took to work on it, the longer Biol would have to reach the city. The pigeon should have taken an hour or so to reach Biol’s tower, barring any obstructions like storms or predators, and Biol could fly from the tower to the city in slightly less time—forty-five minutes, perhaps.

Of course, he would have to avoid the fighting dragons guarding the city’s boundaries, which would eat up more time. Then he would see what had happened in the city, and he would, hopefully, come up with a clever plan. Perhaps he would retrieve the Stones first, although he certainly couldn’t be around the city long without an alarm being raised. Factoring all of that in, Biol should have been here—

An hour ago.

Sighing, Anxiety hugged his knees to himself. He was quite prepared to wallow in worry for the next—hour? day? how long did a curse take to prepare?—when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He glanced that way and saw—

Oh, god fucking dammit. 

Prince looked back at him, eyes narrowed and fur bristled. He was crouched behind a piece of the broken wall, and Anxiety gave him what he hoped was an  _ are you fucking kidding  _ look. Prince, nonplussed, turned his gaze to the great dragon—it was watching the magician, but Anxiety was terrified of what would happen if it saw Prince. Sure, Prince was a rat, and maybe the dragon would ignore him, but—

But what if it  _ didn’t?  _ What if the magician could tell that the rat was actually cursed? What if the dragon decided to—to eat him or something? 

Anxiety started to mouth something at Prince—probably something along the lines of  _ get the fuck out of here, you fucking moron— _ but the dragon’s head swiveled around and it narrowed its eyes at him. It clicked its talons again.  _ Clack-clack-clack-clack. _

“I have a question,” it said, suddenly, and Anxiety flinched. “You were under the guard of the great dragon Biol. However did you escape?”

Oh thank god. That he could answer. But to tell it that Biol was working with him—no.  _ That  _ would be stupid. “I just snuck out. It wasn’t very hard. I’m a demon, remember?” he said, an edge of sarcasm to his voice that, judging by the quick narrowing of its eyes, it did not appreciate. “No great dragon can stand up to my incredible skills.”

“You are mocking me.”

“Of course not,” Anxiety said, widening his eyes and maybe toning down the sarcasm a  _ little,  _ because he actually didn’t want to irritate it. Not when it wasn’t just his life at stake anymore—not when Prince was here and small and defenseless and  _ an idiot, seriously, what the fuck was he thinking. _ “I’m just telling you the truth.”

The dragon huffed. “Well, so be it. Biol has ever been worthless to me.”

Seizing on the chance for a distraction, Anxiety asked, “What’s the deal with you and Biol, anyway? You’re both great dragons, right? There aren’t many of you left, so shouldn’t you—”

“I do not want to be mates with Biol, at all,” the dragon, sharply. 

“—get to know each other instead of tearing each others’ throats out?”

“I have already gotten to know him quite well, and I have decided that I should rather like to tear his throat out,” the dragon said, “only he is more useful to the Queen to keep alive.”

“And you  _ like  _ the Queen?”

“Why, of course. Biol does not, because he is a moron and quite argumentative and overly ambitious, and he does not know a good thing when he sees it. But the Queen has ever been good to me—she has known me my entire life, in fact, and has been nothing but sweet and kind and lovely. I do not see why all of you  _ peasants  _ insist on disliking her so.”

Anxiety could think of a million reasons why, but he could also think of a million reasons why he shouldn’t point those reasons out to this dragon, so infatuated with the Queen as it was. “I mean, I don’t know her personally, so—”

“Obviously not,” the dragon said, lifting its head haughtily. “She has no time to waste on manipulative demons like you. She is terribly busy trying to run this worthless kingdom—or, more precisely, trying to keep it from running itself into the ground. Have you  _ seen  _ the economic report from last year? Horrendous. Absolutely horrendous. If the merchants would only pay their taxes, the economy would not be in such a sorry state.”

The magician stood up, mercifully saving Anxiety from an economic discussion with a  _ very  _ biased dragon, and said, “Well, it is as good as I can get it. Come here, the both of you.”

The dragon looked towards her, and as it did, Prince bolted from his hiding spot and sprang onto Anxiety’s ankle. He latched his claws into Anxiety’s trousers and scrambled up to hide himself in Anxiety’s pants pocket.  _ Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.  _

The magician and the dragon were both looking at him now, and impatience was simmering in the dragon’s eyes. He couldn’t pull Prince back out of his pocket without them seeing him—shit. 

Swallowing hard, Anxiety moved reluctantly towards the magician, and the dragon stretched its neck forward to lay its head flat on the ground before her. The magician patted its nose quite fearlessly, although its nostrils flared in irritation, and then jabbed a dagger under one of its large scales. The dragon twitched but did not withdraw, and the magician smeared a dab of its blood onto a piece of parchment.

“You next,” the magician said, and Anxiety warily held out his hand—the one that wasn’t burnt. As helpful as it would have been to have only a single injured hand, he wasn’t sure he could tolerate the pain of one hand being both seared  _ and  _ stabbed. “Just a pinch.”

Oh, like he hadn’t heard  _ that  _ before. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited, wrestling with the overwhelming desire to pull away, until the magician unapologetically sliced his palm open. He flinched (and felt Prince do the same, although he couldn’t fathom why) and yanked his hand back, clamping it to his chest, as the magician smeared his blood next to the dragon’s.

“You both are bound in contract, now,” she said. “If you would be so kind as to remain quiet and still, I will apply the curse.”

Anxiety shoved his hand—the one that wasn’t currently oozing blood—into his pocket and trapped Prince under it. If there was ever a time the impulsive bastard needed to stay put, it was now. Prince squirmed unhappily, but he didn’t try to get away, for which Anxiety was grateful. The dragon closed its eyes as the magician began to speak—that same strange language, humming unpleasantly in his ears. He tasted metal and hot air in his mouth, terrifyingly similar to the time he had touched the first Stone and been torn apart from Thomas and the other sides.

And then, as she was in the middle of cursing them, he began to second-guess himself. Of course he did.  _ What if she’s just tricking me? What if this is actually a curse to get me to tell them where the Stones are? Or to kill me? Or to bind me to her service or something? And if it  _ is  _ the curse she says it is, how am I going to keep the Stones safe without getting cursed? _

But then the magician was done, and he was cursed, and the taste of metal began to seem like the taste of blood. He swallowed hard, stomach turning, and watched as the dragon’s eyes slid back open. “It is finished?” it asked.

“It is finished,” the magician said. “You have two hours before the curse will be fufilled.”

“Very good. You are dismissed.”

The magician bowed briefly before slipping away with the dragon’s servant, taking the pot of tea with her. The dragon then scooped Anxiety up again—he was, at this point, almost used to dragons doing that—and threw itself into the sky. (Shit shit shit, now Prince was  _ really  _ stuck with him.) Its wings beat noisily, almost clumsily, as though it were not used to flying—and perhaps it wasn’t. It couldn’t have been given much freedom, if Anxiety had never seen it before now and it had stayed near the city.

“Now, then,” the dragon said, lifting him close to its head. “Where are my Stones?”

“They’re—um, they’re actually—”

Before Anxiety could finish formulating a lie, the dragon’s head whipped around and away from him. Its paws tightened around him, pressing its talons into his sides, and he struggled to see through them. Hope grew tentatively in his chest, and it bloomed entirely when he saw, in the distance, a great blue dragon winging towards them.

Biol had come.


	14. Cog in the Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter title taken from the song “cog in the machine” from the world of goo soundtrack  
> warnings: death, major injuries, blood, mentions of drowning, physical violence
> 
> beta'd by the lovely randomslasher!

The two great dragons landed on the outskirts of the city, where there were few buildings or crops to be crushed under their bodies. The green dragon kept Anxiety clutched close to its chest, enfolded within its talons, and it looked upon Biol with utter disdain. Biol regarded it with something more like disgust, his eyes continually flicking to look back upon the city in horror.

“Well, then, and what are you here for?” the green dragon demanded, sitting back on its haunches and baring its teeth. “You are not to leave your tower without explicit orders.”

“I take orders no longer,” Biol said, his voice trembling with anger. “Not from someone like _you._ Only look what you have done—the city! the people!”

“It would not have come to this, if only they were obedient. But it is you that has forced my hand, truly. You let this escape—” Here the green dragon gestured to Anxiety with its nose, and Anxiety instinctively slipped his hand into his pocket to shield Prince from that predatory gaze, because a mere layer of fabric didn’t feel quite sufficient. “And it hid away my Stones. If you had only done as I had told you to and watched it more closely, there would be no need for this destruction, so it is _your_ fault, and do not go trying to convince me it is not.”

“As though you would not have done this for half such an important reason,” Biol said scatchingly. “You always were inclined to destruction.”

“I am nothing but benevolent. If I destroy something, it is because I must. Do not think I take pleasure in it. But I must warn you, Biol, that if you think to defy me, I _shall_ take pleasure in destroying you,” the green dragon said.

“And how do you plan to do that? You have lost the Stones.”

“I have not. I have merely lost one.”

“That is not true, at all.”

“And how would you know?” the green dragon said, its hackles rising. “You have not seen any of the Stones for nigh on fifty years now—”

“That is not true, either. I have seen them only half an hour ago—all three of them, quite safe, and quite under my protection, as they should always have been,” Biol said.

The green dragon sprang to its feet, its grip around Anxiety tightening. He pressed his back into the cool scales of its paw, gulping as he was swung onto its back so it could better show its claws to Biol. “You lie,” it hissed, as he scrambled to sit up between its shoulders, the fingers of his free hand—the one that didn’t have a death grip on Prince—tangling in the silky fur of its mane.

“I do nothing of the sort, but I do not particularly care if you think I do. I have my Stones, and thus I have no reason to listen to you any longer, _Your Majesty.”_ Biol spat the word like poison, and—and—

What? Your Majesty?

This—this great wretched beast, _this_ was the Queen? How was that possible? Anxiety had seen the Queen when Thomas had tried to steal the orange Stone for the first time, all those weeks ago, and she had certainly not been a dragon. Maybe Biol had just been making a joke, calling the dragon that?

Anxiety didn’t have time to ponder it much longer, because the green dragon—the Queen?—reared onto her hind feet and flared her wings, nearly jostling him off of her back. “How dare you,” she said. “You hypocrite, you—”

“But I am not like you,” Biol said, keeping his voice low and his posture calm, if tense. “I am not a thief, come in the middle of the night to steal something that does not belong to me—even if rightly two of the Stones do, I must make avows that the third is yours, and I would not take it. At least, not without proper challenge.”

“You would dare challenge _me?”_ the Queen said, snarling. “I would see you torn limb from limb by dogs, you bastard.”

“I would challenge you for right of the possession of all three Stones. You may accept and I shall fight you honorably for them, or you may surrender and I shall see you put up in my tower. Rest assured, you will be provided for, and I shall not lay a single talon on you, much as you may deserve it.”

Under Anxiety, the Queen was trembling, the fur of her mane standing on end and her talons driving lines into the soft dirt beneath them. Finally, in a low voice, she said, “I would accept your challenge.”

“So be it.” Biol stood, unfolding his wings. “As challenged, you may choose the fighting grounds—only, I refuse to do more damage to the city, so it must be away from here. Also, I would take that side—that creature there, on your back—from you, as it belongs to me more than it belongs to you.”

“No. I will keep the demon. It is an unfair advantage to you, who may know how to use its magical abilities. I thought you wanted to fight honorably?”

“Very well. Leave it here on the ground, then. It need not be involved in our fight at all.”

“And how am I to know that it will not perform some black magic from the ground to help you? No, I will keep it with me so that I may watch it. If it will make you feel more comfortable, I shall see it outfitted with a harness so that it will not fall midair, and you needs must be careful not to lay tooth or talon on my shoulders,” the Queen said.

“That is unfair as well, lest you avoid my shoulders too.”

“I will even give you armor for them,” the Queen said, her voice grim. “Come.”

They flew back to the castle, where Anxiety was hastily strapped into a strange harness. It was a bit like the climbing harnesses he had seen, buckling over his shoulders and around his chest and legs (although thankfully not across his pocket, lest it squish Prince). The Queen, too, had a heavy length of leather wound around her neck and shoulders, to which Anxiety’s harness was tied to.

That leather was covered with a thick plate of armor, spanning across both of the Queen’s shoulders, so that a stray claw or tooth or flame would not damage her harness and send Anxiety plummeting to the ground. Anxiety himself received a coat of chainmail that he draped over his own harness. Both his and the Queen’s harnesses, and he himself (and hopefully by extension, Prince) were enchanted to be fireproof. He was thankful for the preparations, at least, although he would much ( _much much much_ ) rather be left on the ground.

Biol did not have a harness, but he, too, received armor that sat across his shoulders to match the Queen’s. He flapped his wings quite a bit, making sure the piece did not interfere with his flight, before pronouncing himself satisfied with their arrangements. He offered Anxiety an apologetic look but did not try to argue again for his being left behind.

Anxiety wanted to slip over to Biol’s side to speak with him—to tell him about the curse, and how Anxiety had agreed to give the Queen the Stones, or to ask about the whereabouts and wellbeing of Morality and Logic—but he was forbidden to. The Queen kept a wary eye on him, as though he would suddenly begin to use dark magic at Biol’s bidding. If only.

Once both dragons were outfitted, they took to the skies again. Biol fell in behind the Queen, and she led them to her chosen fighting grounds—a patch of wide, open sky above the churning ocean. After arguing about their distance from the port, which sat where the river bled into the sea, the two dragons finally seemed to reach an agreement. They squared off from each other and turned, their wings swiveling in a way Anxiety had never seen a dragon’s wings swivel, to hover mid-air and stare each other down.

“To the death, then?” the Queen asked.

“To the death,” Biol said.

_To the death?_ Anxiety thought unhappily, hunching closer to the Queen’s back, tightening his grip on Prince—who squirmed unhappily—and testing the straps of his harness for the millionth time. What was going to happen to him and Prince if the Queen died? They would plummet into the ocean for sure. Maybe Biol could get them out in time, but it still wasn’t a comforting idea.

Fortunately, he didn’t have much time to worry about it, because as soon as the two dragons dove at each other his thoughts went out the window. (All thoughts, that was, except those regarding Prince’s safety.) The Queen sprang first, flipping her wings out from a hovering beat to a forward dive in seconds. She met Biol head-on, their talons locking together and wings pummeling each other as they fell towards the ocean.

Anxiety’s stomach leapt into his throat, the cold, salty breeze pulling remorselessly at his hair and clothes. The noise of the battle was incredible—the Queen was snarling, and the sound echoed throughout the whole length of her throat. Biol was growling, a softer and more menacing sound, but the dragons were close enough that Anxiety could hear it. Their armor clanged dreadfully as they struck at each other, and the noise of the waves battering below them made Anxiety’s heart hammer.

Just before their tail-tips struck the water, both dragons peeled apart and flapped back up to gliding altitude. They circled each other, tasting the air and turning their heads to see what damage they had wrought. Biol was sporting a nick on his chin and a few superficial scratches around his flanks and legs. The Queen had similar wounds, although there was a deeper cut along her tail.

Anxiety braced himself for the second clash, and it came shortly. The Queen roared, the noise vibrating up Anxiety’s spine, and threw herself against at Biol. She drove her talons into the hide under his arms, pulling him close in a macabre mid-air hug, and brought her hind legs up to draw them along his belly in a swift, powerful couple of kicks. Biol bellowed, whipping his head back in pain before darting it forward, using her moment of distraction to wrap his jaws around her throat. Anxiety could hear him bearing down on the soft flesh there, the grind of his back teeth, and the Queen gasped and jerked away before he could puncture anything vitally important.

Again, the dragons fell back and circled each other. Anxiety was horrified to see the damage that the Queen’s attack had done. The bottom of Biol’s belly was sliced open in four or five deep gashes, and blood flowed freely down his abdomen and hind legs. His lips were peeled back from his teeth in a pained grimace, stained red with the Queen’s blood. She, too, was bleeding, but the bite on her throat was nowhere near as bad as Biol’s wound.

“Biol?” Anxiety shouted, attempting to stand on the Queen’s back. “Biol, are you—”

“Shut up, demon.” The Queen whipped her head around and snapped at him, her teeth closing inches from his face. “Do not help him.”

Anxiety hunched back down and she peeled her attention from him, but it was already too late—Biol had seized the opportunity Anxiety had provided and lunged at her. By the time the Queen had realized her mistake, he was already on top of her. He reached around her shoulders and hooked his claws into her wing-muscles, tearing through her thick hide.

Shrieking, the Queen attempted to move away from him, but he brought his wings up and around to slam hers down. She lurched forward, driving her teeth into the soft underside of his jaw, and swung her head savagely. The sound of flesh ripping made Anxiety want to gag, and Biol’s blood spattered onto his hands and hair.

Biol released her, snarling, and threw himself back. Anxiety expected him to retreat and circle again, but he did not. He stopped immediately, once her fangs had been removed, and opened his mouth. His sides swelled with breath, and Anxiety saw a crackling glow in the back of his throat before white flame spilled from his jaws.

The Queen stiffened with alarm, but quickly ducked her head and turned to the side to take the brunt of the fire upon her shoulder and flank. It heated the metal of her armor and blistered her scales, and she howled and beat her wings furiously to move away from him. Biol clamped his mouth shut again, smoke trickling from his nostrils, and ran a paw over the massacred flesh of his lower jaw.

Then, impossibly, Biol twisted around, opened his mouth, and breathed flame upon the gashes in his stomach. He writhed in pain as soon as he had done it, clawing desperately at the empty air, but the blood ceased to flow from the wounds there. Anxiety’s stomach turned as he watched, and even the Queen made a sound of disbelief. He felt Prince stiffen in his pocket, and when he looked the rat’s head was peeking out of his pocket, eyes wide and stunned.

“Why does it mean that much to you?” she cried. “That I should have the Stones, and not you, is that really so bad? Am I so terrible of a ruler that you must turn your fire on yourself only to see me overthrown? Do you hate me that very much, Biol?”

“Oh, I have never hated you!” Biol said, whirling to face her and wincing as he spoke. “But I utterly _despise_ what you have done. You have let this kingdom suffer the plagues of famine and beast alike, without lifting a hand to help it, though you might have. And that is not even the greatest of your crimes—it was you who murdered my mate! How very much do you suppose I want to see you gone? But not dead—never dead. I am not like you. I suppose even if you were to kill me, and smash the Stones, and see the kingdom in ruins, I could not hate you. Not you who I once called friend.”

“You never thought me a friend,” the Queen spat. “You and Hethe—you pitied me only. You thought I was _weak.”_

“We did no such thing. It was your self-obsession only—”

“Then why could I not be mates with you as well? The two of you cleaved to each other and turned from me—and why? Because I could not have an egg, and you both could.” The Queen drew her head back, hissing. “How very _grand,_ to have an egg. How very worth giving up your _friend_ for.”

“You could have been our mate. You do not have to have an egg to be a mate. We certainly could have used the help brooding them. And, anyway, a friend is not worth less than a mate, at all, so I do not see why you were so upset—and it was nothing that deserved to become a thief and a murderer and a tyrant over,” Biol said, looking fiercely at her. “I cannot forgive you for that.”

“Then what would you have me do? Give up? Go live in your lonely tower for the rest of my life and let you take my Stones?” The Queen shook her head. “I cannot tolerate it. I should rather die.”

“Oh, but I do not want you dead,” Biol said, leaning forward imploringly. “I do not want you dead by my hand especially. _Circe._ Please, Circe. Let us build a new future, let us—”

The Queen narrowed her eyes and bore her teeth. “I do not build. I destroy.”

“It does not have to be that way—”

“Oh, I rather think it does.”

The Queen drew herself up, and Anxiety clung more tightly to her fur. He felt her sides stretch with breath beneath him, and he prepared himself for the heat of flame from her mouth—but what came from her mouth was not flame. She spat, and a thin stream of green liquid arced over the distance between her and Biol.

Biol saw it coming and dodged easily, but in his distraction the Queen spat again and flapped her wings, fanning the stream into a fine mist. This Biol could not dodge, but he brought his forelegs up to guard his face and the liquid settled upon them. He shrieked as soon as it did, beating away from her. Anxiety could hear the liquid sizzling and popping, and blood began to weep from the scales of Biol’s arms.

An image of a bottle, handed to him just before he left Biol’s tower for the castle, sprang into his mind. Biol’s voice rang in his head. “It will certainly chew through anything you need it to, only do not get it on yourself.”

And it had, hadn’t it? He had used it to get into the Queen’s throne room—acid.

Shit.

Biol dove, hitting the surface of the ocean in a great wave, and the Queen followed him down. Anxiety was instantly drenched, although the Queen didn’t submerge herself completely. His hair stuck messily to his head, and the cold wind instantly chilled his wet skin. He shuddered, wiping water out of his eyes and struggling to see Prince. The rat’s fur was soaked flat and dark, and his tiny sides heaved against Anxiety’s fingers.

Then a great blue head broke through the water a couple hundred feet away, and Anxiety heard Biol gasping. His forearms, where they paddled out of the water, looked red and raw. When he saw the Queen, he narrowed his eyes and swam forward, moving snakelike through the waves.

They paused to circle each other for a moment, and Anxiety allowed himself to slump against the Queen’s wet fur. “Prince,” he said, his voice a weak rasp. “Princey, are you okay?”

Prince squeaked at him, and when Anxiety looked he was nodding, determined. Anxiety, on the other hand, felt much less okay—his whole body was tight and racked with shivers, and for a moment he thought he was hearing things, because there was a tiny, fierce roar ringing in his ears.

Pulling his head up, he glanced over and there, flying towards them, was a small blue and gray dragon. It was flying crookedly, beating its wings too hard and too fast—as though it were injured or inexperienced with flight or, perhaps, both. It landed on the Queen’s back before she could react, scrambling into Anxiety’s lap and chirring with concern.

“We’re fine, we’re fine,” he said, running a hand over Morality’s muzzle and greedily soaking the warmth of the dragon’s belly into his legs. “You need to go, though, you need to take Prince and—”

The Queen’s head came around to hover over them, her pupils mere slits in the red pools of her irises. “Who are you, pest, to be climbing about on me in the middle of a challenge?”

Morality sprang to his feet, crouching protectively over Anxiety and Prince and showing his teeth.

“It is merely a street dragon,” Biol said, moving forward enough to make the Queen jerk her attention back to him. “You have bigger things to worry about. Send it away.”

“It is the one I put into prison,” the Queen said. “Oh, it is working for _you,_ I suppose. This is all some big plan—”

“It is not. Morality, go,” Biol said. “You must not interfere. I promise you that Anxiety shall not be hurt, no matter which of us wins. You may wait over there, and watch, and retrieve him once we are done here.”

But Morality, the stubborn fuckhead, drove his talons into the Queen’s mane and snarled. His eyes were glittering, furious and determined, and _shit,_ there was no way Anxiety could let him stay here. He wasn’t going to let them be hurt because of his decisions. No fucking way.

“Morality!” Anxiety shouted, pulling Prince out of his pocket and shoving him towards the dragon. “Get out of here! Take Prince and go!”

Morality’s eyes widened, and then he bristled his spines and bore his teeth and _fuck fuck fuck_ why _did the others have to be so goddamn_ stubborn? He was trying to _save_ them.

“Prince can’t stay here, Morality—Patton! He’ll drown, okay? So just—just take him, already!” Anxiety snapped.

Morality made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a growl, and there was fear in his eyes—raw, agonizing fear. He was shaking, Anxiety realized. Despite all of his determination, all of his hope and courage, he was shaking. He was terrified. Anxiety’s heart ached for him, but—but this had to be done.

He reached forward, attempting to cram Prince into the pack next to Logic, but at the last second, the rat spun around and drove his teeth into Anxiety’s sleeve. He was squeaking furiously, fur bristling in damp spikes and eyes blazing and _oh,_ Anxiety loved him—which was exactly why he couldn’t be here, fucking hell.

“I can’t protect you up here,” Anxiety said, trying to yank his sleeve out of Prince’s mouth without injuring his teeth. “Just go! I’ll be fine, so just—just _go!”_

But Prince only tightened his grip, and Morality was shaking shaking _shaking,_ and—

And Logic lunged forward, coiling himself around Prince and and striking at his eyes—for a moment, Anxiety was terrified that Logic’s fangs had actually met Prince’s face. Prince flinched violently, releasing Anxiety’s sleeve, and Logic was quick to draw him back into the safety of the pack—where, thank god, Anxiety saw that Prince was unharmed.

Unharmed, and very, very unhappy. The rat whirled around, baring his teeth at Logic, but before Anxiety could speak, something much bigger and angrier was baring its teeth at them.

“I have had _enough,”_ the Queen snarled, and she opened her jaws and snapped at Morality. Anxiety cried out, terrified— _no no no no not his family, not them,_ please—

Relief crested violently in his chest when the Queen drew her head back and he saw Patton in the air, flapping wildly. They were okay. They were uninjured, for the most part, and they could escape. Anxiety had done his job.

Thank god.

He got one last glimpse of their eyes—achingly similar, flooded with agony and desperation, and oh, he hated to see that—before the Queen was lunging at Biol again and water was surging over his head, flooding his mouth and nostrils and choking off his air and his thoughts.

The dragons rolled through the water, and Anxiety found himself nearly drowned each time they did. It was a terrifying experience, being harnessed to the back of a creature underwater, and unable to surface of his own volition.

Several times he wondered if he would ever come up again—and even when he did, he could not stop fearing, because he would be back under within seconds. He didn’t dare unharness himself, though. That would be even worse—he could be crushed unknowingly by a flailing limb, or held under by the weight of their bodies.

But then Biol was springing up, beating his wings hard and pulling out of the water. The Queen followed him back into the sky, sinking her talons into his haunches and attempting to pull him back. Biol whirled around, and in one fell swoop, he drew his talons across the broadest part of the Queen’s throat.

For a moment, the both of them paused in surprise. A red line appeared on the Queen’s neck, and then, in a rush, blood began to gush from it. Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth as though to shriek—but she spat, instead. This time, Biol, evidently in shock at the blow he had landed, did not react in time. The acid hit him full in the face and he screamed—an awful, heart-wrenching sound.

Both dragons’ wings folded like wet paper, sending them hurtling across the short distance between themselves and the ocean again. Their bodies hit the water with tremendous splashes, and Anxiety tangled his hands in the Queen’s mane and clung as water flooded into his mouth and nose, stinging and cold.

The Queen struggled to right herself, flipping onto her belly—a fact for which Anxiety was very grateful—and then ceased to move. He felt her body twitching faintly as the water around them turned murky and red with clouds of blood. Just in front of her, Biol was spasming, clawing desperately at his own face.

Anxiety fumbled with his harness, fear for Biol overcoming his fear of drowning, and untied himself from the Queen. He stumbled forward, slipping on the slick surface of her armored shoulders, until he reached her head and could cling to her horns. He hovered there, on her forehead, staring hopelessly at Biol’s thrashing body.

“Biol,” he cried, “Biol, we have to get to shore, we have to get a doctor, we—”

And then the world was folding in on itself, shoving him into himself, compressing him, _crushing_ him. He tasted metal and hot air, and his vision was torn from him. He lay, gasping, for several seconds. Confusion and disorientation were his close companions, clinging to each of his thoughts and the utter chaos of them all. What happened? What was happening?

Thomas opened his eyes, and the world was falling apart around and inside of him.


	15. A Time for Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title taken from “a time for change” from the thomas was alone soundtrack  
> warnings: injuries, death, blood, mentions of violence, mild gore
> 
> beta'd by the exquisite randomslasher!

_—everyone alright? Okay, okay, kiddos, let’s just take a few deep breaths, we’re fine, we’re together now, everything is going to be fine._

_Biol’s going to_ drown _if we don’t do something._

_But what could we possibly do? We’re just one person, and we’re almost half a mile from the shoreline._

_Don’t think that way. We’re a hero—we can definitely save him if we try._

Thomas stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over one of the Queen’s horns—the Queen? horns?—and sitting down hard. Where was he? What was happening? Why were all of his sides effectively freaking the fuck out? _Uh, guys? What’s happening?_

 _Thomas, thank god,_ Morality said. _We’re so glad you’re back. Are you okay?_

_Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just confused._

_I’ll bring you up to speed: the Stone cursed us, we all got split up and you were gone, I was a snake, Morality was a dragon, Prince was a rat, Anxiety was Anxiety and he made friends with a giant dragon, we’ve stolen the Queen’s Stones—there are three of them, did you know?—also Anxiety’s friend dragon, that’s the large blue one there, is going to drown soon, and we have to get to shore before he does, because this great floating carcass isn’t going to last very long and I am not sure we can swim the distance without Biol’s help,_ Logic said.

Thomas stared at the massive dragon in the water, blood slicking its forearms and face, and remembered it sharply and vividly—memories that didn’t belong to the whole of him, but only a part: eating stew and sunbathing beside a river and flying over an enormous tower.

 _Manifest us,_ Anxiety said suddenly. _You’re too confused._

Thomas recoiled from the idea—manifest his sides, here? In the middle of the ocean? (Or was it a lake? Ocean, his sides confirmed with their memories, images and words clattering angrily together in his mind.) There was an enormous (dead? yes) green dragon (the Queen, that’s the Queen, how is that _possible)_ beneath his feet, and another dragon (Biol?) writhing furiously in the water. It would be easy for any of his sides to be hurt if they were out in the open.

 _And we’re definitely going to be hurt if you keep standing here doing nothing,_ Anxiety spat, pressing forward and angrily clawing at the corners of Thomas’ mind, sending shudders of fear down his spine. _Let us out, let us fix this. We know what we’re doing._

 _He is actually correct,_ Logic said. _At this point, all of our memories and experiences are disjointed. Reintegration will take longer than we currently have. It would be easier for us to act as separate individuals for now._

 _But what if you’re hurt?_ Thomas asked, shrinking away from the idea—his sides were his friends, his family, his _him._ He couldn’t bear to put them in danger if he could avoid it.

 _We’ve been through worse,_ Prince said, rather grimly. _Now, come on. Princes can’t allow their fear to rule them._

Only that wasn’t quite it, was it? Even Anxiety, even his fear, was telling him to manifest them—so what was holding him back? _I don’t know, I—_

 _I know we just got back together, kiddo, but it’s gonna be okay. A quick pop out into the real world and we’ll come right back,_ Morality said.

And that was it, wasn’t it? They had been gone, they had been apart from him instead of a part of him. Even if he didn’t understand how that had happened, or how it was possible, the wrongness of it sat bone-deep. His mind held a flurry of different memories where it should only ever had held a single, streamlined series of them. And now his sides were asking to be set apart again, and—and he didn’t, he _couldn’t—_

 _Trust us, kiddo,_ Morality said. _We’re yours._

Taking a deep breath, Thomas swallowed the automatic revulsion that rose in him and manifested his sides. Their physical images sprang into life around him, instantly in motion. Anxiety leapt for the edge of the green dragon’s snout, shouting desperately at the blue dragon—“Biol, Biol, it’s alright, calm down!”

Morality stepped in front of him, cupping his face in his hands (hands that were, Thomas noticed with a rising sense of horror, littered with small cuts and scrapes) and peering closely at him. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Thomas said, although he ached with the urge to pull his sides back—back to him, back into himself, where they belonged.

“Good. Now, then, we have to help this dragon to shore. I think it would be best if you stayed here for a moment.” Morality glanced over his shoulder at Anxiety, who seemed to have caught the blue dragon’s attention. “Roman, can you—?”

“On it. You just take care of Thomas.” Prince was already halfway down the green dragon’s muzzle, stepping into his place at Anxiety’s side.

“I am going to attempt to reason with Biol, although he may be too distressed to listen,” Logic said. “Morality, will you be alright with him?”

“Definitely. You guys just be careful, alright?”

Logic made his way towards Prince and Anxiety, slipping unsteadily on the dragon’s slick scales, and Morality knelt beside Thomas. He set a hand on Thomas’ shoulder, gentle and warm, and draped his cardigan over Thomas’ back. It smelt like dragon and saltwater, strange and unfamiliar.

“I’m so confused,” Thomas said, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Where have I been?”

“We’re not sure. It’s been almost three weeks since we’ve seen you. It’s completely understandable to be confused. We’ll do our best to clear things up when we get back to shore,” Morality said.

“So what are we trying to do?” Thomas asked. “Logic’s explanation was a little, erm—”

“Rushed? Yes, he’s a little excited, I think, to be able to speak again, and to be in such an—an _interesting_ situation,” Morality said. “We’re trying to get Biol, the blue dragon, to swim back to shore and take us with him. Once we’re there, I think we’re going to try to get a doctor for him. This green dragon spat some sort of acid at him.”

“Morality, c’mere,” Anxiety called, and Morality shot a worried look over his shoulder. The blue dragon had paused just in front of the green one, his movements calmer now, although blood was still streaming from his hide.

“I’ll be right back, Thomas. You hang tight.” Morality patted Thomas’ knee before making his way down to the other sides to speak with the dragon.

Thomas curled in on himself, staring numbly at the huddle of his sides around the blue dragon’s muzzle. Everything felt wrong and off-kilter, but the unpleasantness of that was muted by the apparent urgency of the situation. He found himself watching the dragon with anticipation—what if it tried to hurt them? What if it couldn’t take them back to shore?

“We must go quickly,” the blue dragon—Biol, right?—said, his voice rasping and low. “To the Stones—it will not be long now, if by the Queen’s death the curse was broken. Come, come, climb aboard, I will take you.”

“You’re hurt, Biol, you need a doctor. The Stones can wait a couple more hours,” Anxiety said, shaking his head.

“They can do no such thing, and anyway there is no doctor who will be able to see to a great dragon,” Biol said, shoving his nose forward to rest it upon the green’s dragon. “Climb on, now, and hold to my mane. I will swim.”

“Thomas,” Prince said, holding a hand out towards him. “Come on.”

Clutching tightly to Prince’s hand for balance, Thomas made his way up Biol’s forehead to crouch on the crest of his head, between his horns. He twisted his fingers into the damp, cool fur there and clung. Prince sat beside him, eyes shining with something like excitement as Biol shoved off of the green dragon and began gliding through the water.

Morality crouched on his other side, and Logic sat cross-legged in front of him. Anxiety, however, paced a line between Biol’s horns. Fear glazed his eyes, and he kept darting glances at the blood marring Biol’s face. The other sides cast concerned looks at him, but none of them seemed willing to try to stop him.

“Anxiety stayed with Biol while you were gone,” Morality said, when Thomas gave him a questioning look. “I think they’re friends.”

Anxiety? Making friends? The idea seemed ridiculous. Thomas must have given Morality a skeptical look, because he laughed and said, “Oh, I know. It seems silly, doesn’t it? But it’s true.”

“It was quite brave, for him,” Prince added, with grudging admiration.

As they neared the shore, relief filled Thomas’ chest, but Biol began to slow. “Anxiety,” the dragon said, wiping blood from his eyes. “I cannot see. Are we quite close to shore?”

Anxiety’s mouth twisted unhappily, and he moved to crouch on Biol’s snout. “We have a few hundred feet to go. If you move to the left, you’ll come in at the forest. Is that where the Stones still are?”

“It is,” Biol said, adjusting his course and resuming his steady movement.

“How did you know where I’d hidden them?” Anxiety asked.

“Your friends,” Biol said. “They are you, are they not?”

Anxiety shot a curious glance at them, and Logic shrugged and said, “Well, I simply tried to think like you would. It wasn’t that hard. You would chose dark, close spaces, because that’s where _you_ feel safest, so it’s where you would put something you wanted to keep safe.”

Anxiety gave him a disgruntled look before turning back around and murmuring corrections to Biol’s course as they neared the shoreline. The dragon began to droop when he set foot upon the sand, and by the time his upper half was out of the water he was dragging himself. His talons left great, dark gouges in the sand, and he collapsed with his hindquarters still underwater.

Anxiety hopped off immediately, darting around to stand beside one of Biol’s eyes. “Is it the acid? Did it get into your eyes?”

Thomas and the others followed him down, and Thomas felt his stomach drop for Anxiety when Biol said, “Yes, it is the acid. It has gotten into my muscles now. It will not be very much longer before—”

“Don’t talk like that,” Anxiety snapped. “Let’s just find your stupid Stones and get a doctor, okay? A vet, or something. If they can take care of the Queen’s fighting dragons, they can take care of a great dragon.”

“Oh, very well.” Biol heaved himself onto his feet, swinging his head around blindly. “Might you lead the way?”

Anxiety plunged ahead, off of the beach and into the forest, leaving the other sides and the dragon to stumble after him. It took almost a half-hour to reach the place where Biol had evidently hidden the Stones—and Thomas was still coming to terms with the fact that they had the Queen’s Stones, plural, when they stumbled across them.

Thomas stopped abruptly, staring in awe at the three of them. They were beautiful, although they had been plastered with mud and covered with foliage. Biol, too, paused—but only for a second. When Anxiety told him where they were, he dropped the great mass of his body to the ground and looped himself around the Stones.

“Oh, I have them, I have them,” he said, rapture in his voice. Then, to the Stones, “I have you, I have you, darlings, all is well now.”

“Yes,” Anxiety said, lowering himself to sit shakily beside Biol’s bleeding forearm. “You have them.”

“They have not been harmed, have they?” Biol ran his nose urgently across them, tongue flicking out to touch their surfaces.

“No, they’re fine,” Anxiety said. “They’re okay.”

“Thank you, thank you, all of you. I could not have gotten them back safely without your help.”

“Well, of course you’re welcome,” Morality said, smiling, although it was disconcertingly half-hearted.

“So now that the curse is broken,” Logic said, gaining Biol’s attention, “does that mean that the Stones are able to hatch?”

“Hatch?” Anxiety asked, his voice suddenly falling flat and a lurch of unhappy surprise flashing through Thomas’ stomach.

“I do believe so,” Biol said. “They have been brooded long enough, I dare say.”

“What do you mean, _hatch?”_ Anxiety said. “They’re not—they’re not _eggs.”_

“Of course they are. Why else would dragons be so obsessed with them? And didn’t you notice the heating elements that they were sitting on in the treasure rooms?” Logic said. “It was fairly obvious.”

“Biol? They’re—they’re eggs?” Anxiety asked, looking at Biol with something like betrayal. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It seemed detrimental at the time. I did not want you to worry more about their safety than you had to, for fear that you would be too cautious to attempt a retrieval at all,” Biol said, although his voice was apologetic. “I am sorry if finding out has distressed you very much, but—but here, let me introduce you.”

Biol ushered Anxiety forward, and Anxiety set a hand upon the surface—upon the shell—of the blue Stone. “This is—this is your kid, then?”

“So it is,” Biol said, with pride. “This is Bethious, who is of me. This orange one, here, is Khylon, who is of Hethe. And this one—this one is of Circe. I do not know their name, but they are rightfully under my care, now. Would it be too much trouble to take the plates off of it, do you think?”

“Before that,” Morality said, “we should probably get a doctor.”

“Why? There’s no point,” Logic said.

“Shut up!” Anxiety whirled around, glaring at him. “You’re wrong. Just because you’re the smart one doesn’t mean you know everything. He’s not even hurt that badly.”

“If he was unable to wash off the acid in the ocean, and it’s already gone into his muscular system, _and_ it’s close to his brain—”

Morality set a hand on Logic’s arm and he fell silent. “Of course we’ll find a doctor, Anxiety. You should stay with him, though, and Prince and Thomas can stay too. Logic and I will head into the city.”

Thomas caught the edge of Morality’s shirt as he turned to go. “Wait,” he said. “We shouldn’t split up.”

Morality smiled comfortingly at him. “It’s alright, buddy. We’ll be back within the hour.”

“The city is barely a half-mile away, and the only dangers inside of it at this point are probably looting and rioting. We’ll be fine,” Logic said, then lowered his voice and added, “Besides, Anxiety is going to need you soon, so you should stay here and focus on him instead of worrying about us.”

Thomas watched them go with fear pooling in his stomach, but eventually tore his attention away to look at Anxiety, Prince, and Biol again. Prince was looking over the Stones with something like pride (and something unerringly like hunger) but his eyes kept flicking towards Anxiety as he helped Biol to remove the plates from the smallest egg.

“There,” Anxiety said, when the last silver plate had been dropped off to the side.

“Praytell, what does it look like?”

“It’s green, with red spots,” Anxiety said, setting a cautious hand on its shell. “It looks kind of withered, though. There’s a soft spot here.”

“That is to be expected. Circe produced it using magic, and that is no way for an egg to be produced, at all,” Biol said. “I will not turn my back on the hatchling, however, merely because their progenitor was a witch.”

“A dragon-witch,” Prince said, wonder in his voice. “Of course.”

“Well,” Biol said, tucking himself more tightly around the eggs, “well, it is all fine now. I have done what I ought have done centuries ago. I cannot say that I wholly regret Circe’s death, although I do not take pleasure in it. It is a most peaceful way to die, knowing that I have done what I can to insure a quality of life for my hatchlings greater than that of my own.”

“You’re not going to die,” Anxiety said. “Stop saying that.”

“Oh, Anxiety. Would that I could have known you longer. And you—you are Thomas, correct?” Biol said, his eyes focusing on Thomas.

“I—yeah, I am,” Thomas said, swallowing. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It is nice to meet you, as well. Thank you for allowing me the use of your sides these past few weeks. They have been most useful. I can only imagine how useful you must all be together. I am sorry I cannot stay around to see what you will do, or to help you run the kingdom—”

“Stop saying that,” Anxiety hissed.

“Run the kingdom?” Prince’s eyes widened.

Biol’s eyes roamed over them, half-lidded and blind. Thomas could see the great wounds on his face, raw and bleeding, where the acid had splattered. If he looked closely, he could see bone, and it made his stomach turn. He knew, then—knew in the way that Logic did, even if Anxiety refused to believe it; there was no way Biol was going to make it through the day.

“Come,” Biol said, inviting them into the circle of his forearms to rest next to the eggs. “Let us rest. There is no more to be done until Morality and Logic return.”

“Fine, but you can’t sleep—not until the doctor’s seen you,” Anxiety said, settling in next to the eggs with Prince on one side and Thomas on the other.

But despite Anxiety’s vehement protests, Biol’s eyes continued to slide shut, and his breathing continued to slow. Great, deep breaths faded down into shallow gasps before they ceased entirely, and Biol was gone before Morality and Logic had a chance to return.

Anxiety stood before his muzzle, his shoes and clothes soaked with blood and seawater, his head hanging. His hands curled into fists at his sides, and his shoulders hunched. Thomas couldn’t understand, and it tore at him—how could he not share Anxiety’s grief? How could Anxiety have ever bonded with someone that Thomas hadn’t?

After a long moment, Prince moved forward and set a hand on Anxiety’s shoulder. For once, Anxiety didn’t shrug it off. In fact, he did the complete opposite—he shuddered, and then he turned and buried himself against Prince’s chest.

“It’s alright,” Prince murmured, one hand coming to cup the back of Anxiety’s neck—and he didn’t look disgusted, or annoyed, or even uncomfortable. No, there was something softer and gentler and entirely unfamiliar in his eyes as he gathered Anxiety into a tight hug.

“It’s not,” Anxiety said, his voice cracking—and he was shaking, shaking, shaking. In the hollow of his stomach, Thomas felt like falling apart. But he clung to his hope (and so did Anxiety) and moved over to them. He kept his movements slow so he didn’t startle Anxiety, and wrapped his arms around their shoulders. They bowed their heads together, breathing quietly, until they heard the crunch of Logic and Morality’s steps, along with another person’s. Thomas lifted his head to see his two sides waving the doctor away and climbing gingerly over Biol’s limp paw.

Morality wound his arms around the backs of Anxiety’s and Prince’s neck, drawing them close and resting his head against Anxiety’s. Logic joined their huddle more stiffly, but relaxed when Thomas slung an arm across his back to pull him in more closely. They stood there, clinging to each other, late into the afternoon, and as the shadows started to slant, Thomas folded them into himself.

Taking a deep breath, Thomas stepped back and gazed upon Biol one last time. _Thank you,_ he thought, although he wasn’t quite sure where the thought came from—from one of his sides, or from all of them, or simply from the part of himself that did not belong to a side, the part that was purely _him._

Then, quietly, he heard Morality say, _Let’s go home._

 _Yes,_ Thomas thought. _Let’s go home._


	16. Hope Valley Hill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title taken from the song “hope valley hill” by helios  
> warnings: self-loathing, brief self harm, mentions of panic attacks
> 
> beta'd by the impressive randomslasher!

They moved the eggs from the forest to an abandoned barn on the edge of the demolished city with the help of the Queen’s ex-fighting dragons. These, to even Anxiety’s wary eye, seemed just as happy to serve Thomas as they ever had to serve the Queen—more, even, when he promised them the freedom to serve whomever they chose, or no one at all. More than a few chose to leave the military, although only after an extracted promise to leave citizens alone, but several chose to stay and help tend the eggs.

Anxiety had to admit he became something of a mother-hen in the next few days. He forced Thomas to watch over the eggs almost obsessively, and to think about their well-being in the few moments he had free from worrying about new policies or the reparation of the city. The eggs were swaddled in the finest silk and warmed over braziers, watched by several dragons and guards when Thomas couldn’t be with them.

Prince, on the other hand, was more focused on the _fun_ parts of running the kingdom. (Anxiety thought this was utterly foolish, but he had to admit that it _was_ nice to see Prince happy.) They got to wear noble clothing—tunics and sashes and boots with golden buckles—and correct all of the Queen’s abhorrent rulings. They were working on designing a functioning democracy, although in a kingdom used to hundreds of years of monarchy, it was proving rather difficult. But that was nothing to be down about, Prince insisted—every great leader had their problems.

Morality, too, seemed ecstatic about the chance to help the kingdom change for the better. He urged Thomas to walk through the city as much as he could, talking to the citizens and discovering social and economic problems even the Queen’s old advisors had been unaware of. With his help, they made friends with people long downtrodden by tyranny, and the engagement helped to pull their minds, if only briefly, from their new responsibilities and griefs.

Logic, on the other hand, was working overtime, attempting to hash out policies and eliminate loopholes in any decree Thomas made. (And, perhaps, checking and double-checking his work at Anxiety’s insistence.) He was also responsible for figuring out how to deal with the nobles who were rather unhappy with the change in government—although Morality helped him out with that, being a more people-oriented guy.

Because they were all so busy worrying about the government and the eggs, the five of them had no time to sit down and _talk—_ to reintegrate. The separation had left them all rather confused, and had seemed to have given Thomas a serious headache. Not that Anxiety could blame him—with all of the new memories he had to suddenly contend with, as though he had been in four different places at the same time, he must have been horribly disoriented.

And, Anxiety noticed, Thomas got a _little_ possessive of them during those few days. He was reluctant to manifest them anywhere but the safety of their own room in the barn—they had chosen to stay near the eggs, and spend the Queen’s funds on rebuilding the city instead of the castle—when they were alone. Unfortunately, the rigors of their new duties often required them to be summoned, and that left Thomas (and thus the four of them) feeling more than a little stressed.

Until finally, _finally,_ almost a week after they’d all returned to their normal forms, they had a break. They’d just finished smoothing down the ruffled feathers of several prominent nobles, and Prince was adamant about taking a break before they ran themselves into the ground. Morality leapt at the idea (he seemed to have been the one most affected by their separation, aside from Thomas—there were always lines between his brows and bags under his eyes now, and the tiny scars that littered his arms and shoulders were even less faded than Anxiety’s) and even Logic agreed. Anxiety was uncertain—there was so much _more_ they needed to do—but he couldn’t deny that the idea of resting and relaxing and _talking_ to each other was tempting.

So, with the five of them more or less in agreement, they took a break. Thomas holed up in his room, munched on dry biscuits, and let them have at it. They spent most of the morning sprawled out in the commons, chatting aimlessly and allowing themselves to settle into a calmer mindset—there were no pressing emergencies, no officials clamoring for their attention, no dragons breathing down the backs of their necks. There was just them.

Eventually, though, Thomas must have decided to push forward, because he started questioning them—he probed through their memories, scrambling to put the pieces of his broken consciousness back together and reacclimate them all to being an individual instead of several shattered pieces.

And that was all fine, that was—that was _better_ than fine, because god, Anxiety had missed being a part of something bigger than himself, a part of _Thomas—_ but—

But, well, it didn’t _stay_ fine.

“Hey, Anx,” Thomas said, after they’d lapsed into silence for a moment, simply basking in each others’ presences.

“Hm?” Anxiety glanced up from where he’d been examining the broad burn scar on his palm with mild fascination—he’d healed his wounds as soon as he’d been back in the safety of Thomas’ mindscape, but each one had left a distinct mark, which was something he wasn’t used to. He usually only carried Thomas’ scars on his body, but now—

Well, now his physical form had changed almost as much as he had.

“I don’t think I understand why the Queen’s curse didn’t work on you.”

Before Anxiety could answer, Logic spoke up, his voice quiet but sure, “It did.”

“But wait.” Morality cocked his head. “I don’t get it. He never turned into anything else, so—” Then he stopped abruptly, eyes widening and breath hitching. Anxiety turned towards him, concerned, but he quickly looked away when Morality murmured, “Oh. _Oh,_ kiddo.”

Anxiety shrugged, struggling to appear nonchalant—if he seemed calm, then surely it would help relax Morality. “It’s whatever. It’s not a big deal.”

“What are you—what do you mean?” Thomas asked, looking between Logic and Anxiety, brows furrowed.

“The curse turned us into the thing we hated the most,” Logic said, “but in Anxiety’s case, no change was necessary.”

Four pairs of eyes immediately fell back to Anxiety, and he swore he could feel their gazes burning into his hunched shoulders. He huffed and scowled at the carpet—good, great, yeah. Just how he wanted this day to go. “Yeah. Thanks for stating the obvious, boy genius.”

“I—Anxiety—” Prince started, but Anxiety shook his head.

“Forget about it. Look, I know you guys are worried about Thomas, but I can still do my job—it’s just like before. Nothing’s changed. Nobody has to like me for doing my job—not even me. I get it. It’s fine.” Anxiety took a deep breath, and the commons suddenly felt too heavy, too hot, too stifling. Shit. He didn’t want to have this conversation.

“Anx, sweetheart, we—”

Anxiety stood up, cutting Morality off. “It’s okay, Mo. Really. I’m just—I’m gonna go. I’ll talk to you guys in a little while, I just—need a minute.”

Anxiety pulled himself away from the commons, sinking back into his corner of the mindscape. He threw open the door to his room and flung himself onto his bed, rolling into his duvet and burying his face against his pillow. It smelled like him—like sweat and spicy cologne and fear.

He then proceeded to thoroughly regret the last five minutes of his existence.

He was such an idiot—how could he have thought that Logic wouldn’t have figured out why his form stayed the same? It was Logic’s _job_ to notice inconsistencies and figure them out. Why wouldn’t he have figured out the curse, too? And of course Thomas would ask—it was only natural for him to want to know stuff like that.

And now—now what? Now they were going to pity him. They’d go out of their way just to make him feel better, and that was stupid, and he was stupid and so needy and he was always causing drama and why couldn’t he just be _normal_ and _easy_ and—

And shit, he really hated himself.

He could feel his rapidly-growing panic bleeding into Thomas, who was in the middle of relaxing for one goddamn minute, and it made him feel even more terrible. He curled into himself, attempting to breathe through his sudden, irrational fears. His old insecurities, the ones he thought he’d conquered, were quickly flaring to life again and tearing into him the way they had before this entire thing had begun. _They hate me. I yelled at Morality, how could they not hate me? They’re only been being nice because they’re relieved that we’re all back together again; they’re not your_ friends, _they’ve never been your_ friends, _you’re an_ idiotmonsterworthless—

Shuddering, Anxiety bit down on his pillowcase, but the ache in his jaw wasn’t enough to distract him. An image of Biol, tearing savagely at his own face to rid it from the pain of the Queen’s acid, flashed through his head. He shifted his teeth from his pillow to the bony flesh of his wrist and bore down, listening to his jaw pop and feeling the blissful sting of his teeth grinding against his own muscle.

But god, no, stop—he couldn’t hurt himself. If he did that, then those tendencies (as so very, very many of his tendencies did) would inevitably bleed over and he’d pull Thomas down with him, and the last thing he wanted was for Thomas to hurt himself. He wasn’t that much a piece of shit yet. He clawed at his sheets, instead, willing the thoughts in his head to _slow down, please slow down,_ please—

A knock at the door startled him from his thoughts, momentarily, only to whip them into a further frenzy. What was he going to do if someone wanted to talk to him? How could he make them go away? (Did he really _want_ them to go away?) How could he play this off as something stupid? How could he make them stop paying attention to him? (Why did he need to so badly?)

“Anxiety,” a voice called through his door—Prince’s. “Can I come in?”

Anxiety ran his fingers through his hair, chest heaving in stuttered gasps. What was he supposed to do? What could he do? If he sent Prince away it might piss him off, but if he invited him in he would see this _mess—_

“It’s okay if you want to be alone,” Prince continued, and the low hum of his voice gave Anxiety something to latch onto—something to soothe his thoughts just the littlest bit. “But if you want—if you want a friend, or something, I’m here.”

“I don’t want a friend,” Anxiety said, glaring at the door. But—but—Prince was here, and maybe if Prince was here Anxiety wouldn’t be tempted to hurt (himself) Thomas. “But you can come in, if you’re going to keep pestering me about it.”

Prince slipped inside, and Anxiety refused to look at him, staring hard at the far wall. He heard Prince’s footsteps as he crossed the room, then hesitated at the edge of the bed. “Can I sit down?” Prince asked.

“No, you have to stand there all night,” Anxiety said, sarcasm lacing his words sharply.

“Anxiety.”

“Of course you can sit down. I’m not that much of an asshole.”

He felt his bed shift as Prince sat down next to him. “Do you want to hear a story?”

Anxiety paused. Of all the things he had thought Prince would say—insults, jokes, pathetic attempts at comfort—that was not one of them. “What?”

“I said, do you wanna hear a story?”

“Sure,” Anxiety said, trying to sound more annoyed than confused. “Why not?”

“Okay, so once upon a time, there was this dragon—”

“Of course there was.”

“And there were these two princes. One of them was Prince Thomas. The other one was the Prince of, of—let’s say Hope. The Prince of Hope. So Prince Thomas got taken by this mean dragon, and locked away in this terrible tower miles from his home. Prince Hope found out about it, because they were best friends, and he rushed to rescue Prince Thomas because—because the two princes loved each other very much. But the dragon was very jealous of Prince Thomas and wanted to keep him all to itself.”

Prince’s voice was a balm to his thoughts, distracting him just enough to take the edge off of his panic. The story, senseless and meandering, unfocused him from his fear and lulled him into a quieter state of confusion. Terror was still there, lurking at the edges of his consciousness, but for a brief moment, it had paused.

“So, naturally, Prince Hope was furious. ‘Foul beast, you cannot keep my friend trapped in your vile prison forever,’ he said, but the dragon only laughed at him. Of course it could—it was so much bigger and stronger than Prince Hope, or any of his allies. What could Prince Hope possibly do to stop it?

“‘You are mistaken, Prince Hope,’ the dragon said. ‘I may do whatever I please with Prince Thomas, because he belongs to me now, and I am the more powerful than any king or prince or knight who might try to stop me.’

“So Prince Hope thought long and hard about this, because he knew that the dragon was right. No sword or bow or magician or army could defeat it. What, then, could he do to save Prince Thomas? He could not let his love stay with the dragon, although it did not seem to want to harm him. In fact, the dragon seemed rather overprotective of Prince Thomas—but Prince Hope could not trust it, at all, because it was keeping Prince Thomas trapped.”

Anxiety rolled over, keeping his blankets tucked close to his chin. Prince was perched on the edge of his bed, staring at the far wall with a look of wonderment in his eyes. His back was straight, his chin lifted—the image of confidence and optimism. Each word was soaked with earnest interest, as though Prince truly enjoyed being stuck in a room telling stupid stories to Anxiety because he couldn’t swallow his own fear properly.

“So Prince Hope, after arguing with the dragon for many days and nights, and trying to figure out how he could defeat it, finally had an idea: if he could not beat the dragon by force, perhaps he could beat it with reason, though he was not the smartest of the princes in the land. ‘Dragon,’ Prince Hope said, entering its tower once again. ‘I have come to speak with you. I must first understand: why have you taken Prince Thomas?’

“‘Because you cannot care for him properly,’ the dragon said. ‘He is very gullible and weak and you are always taking him off on silly quests that will get him killed. I am only watching over him, but perhaps you think that I am only stealing him away to spite you.’

“‘But you do not understand,’ Prince Hope argued. ‘Prince Thomas is _not_ gullible or weak. He is not as strong as you, perhaps, but he is still very strong in his own right. These quests will not kill him—they will make him better, and happier. Living in a cage, as you are forcing him to do, will kill him more quickly than any quest I could take him on.’

“And so the dragon grudgingly agreed, because although it cared for Prince Thomas’s safety more than anything else, it, too, could see that keeping Prince Thomas locked away would kill him as surely as anything else could. But it never quite left Prince Thomas alone—it was always following him, watching over his shoulder to be sure that he did not get hurt.

“That made Prince Hope furious, because _he_ knew better than the dragon how to take care of Prince Thomas. It was as though the dragon did not trust him at all, as though the dragon thought he _wanted_ to hurt Prince Thomas. But then, one day, a bigger dragon—a dragon of many names, chiefly among which are Recklessness and Foolishness—came to snatch away Prince Thomas—only, Prince Thomas’s dragon did not let it. It fought and fought the bigger dragon until at last it won.”

Prince glanced at Anxiety’s direction, and their eyes met briefly before Anxiety’s darted away. Prince flopped back, crushing Anxiety’s pillows under his shoulders and folding his hands over his belly. Anxiety grumbled at him but didn’t shuffle away—their elbows were just brushing, close but not overwhelmingly so.

“And then Prince Hope finally understood. The dragon was not a tyrant, always trying to manipulate Prince Thomas into unhappy situations. It was only a very nervous guardian, trying to keep him safe—and it was no coward. It would die for him. Only, because Prince Hope and all of the other princes thought that the dragon was the monster, the dragon thought that, too.”

“I don’t like this story,” Anxiety grumbled.

“So Prince Hope went to find the dragon one day. ‘Dragon,’ he said. ‘I hope that you can forgive me. I have long thought that you merely wanted to trouble Prince Thomas, but I see now that you only want him safe. That is very noble of you. But perhaps we can figure out a way to keep him safe _and_ happy, if only we work together.’”

Yes, yes, that was—that was what Anxiety had decided, wasn’t it? That he could work with them instead of against them, that they could keep Thomas safe _and_ happy, that they could be a _team._ And could that—could that still happen? Now that they were back to normal, it seemed like a distant and fuzzy idea, but—but he was still willing to try, if they were.

Only—only this wasn’t about that, not really, not quite. This was about something darker and crueler and—

And, well, something Anxiety wasn’t exactly as keen on taking on.

“And the dragon turned to look at Prince Hope, and said—” Prince paused, looking expectantly at Anxiety. “What did the dragon say?”

“This is stupid.”

“And so the dragon said, ‘This is stupid,’ and—”

“No, Prince,” Anxiety said, scowling at him. “This whole story is stupid.”

“Really? I thought it was pretty good.”

“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“Well, yeah. That _is_ the idea,” Prince said.

“Did Morality send you over?”

“I mean, he encouraged me to come, but the idea was mine first. See, I’ve actually been thinking a lot—you did a lot of brave stuff with Biol and the Queen, so you can’t be _that_ much of a coward. If you’re not a coward, then why are you always so scared of stuff? And then Logic told me it was because your job was to protect Thomas. I know our jobs conflict a lot, but I don’t think that it’s impossible for us to get along.”

“Of course we _can_ get along. You’re just a dick.”

“You are not making this easy,” Prince said, huffing. “I am _trying_ to make amends and move our relationship forward for Thomas’ sake.”

Anxiety scowled. There it was. For Thomas. Always for Thomas. Not that he minded that, at all—everything should be for Thomas. Hell, Thomas was their reason for living. Anxiety adored the guy in a weird, overprotective way. They were the same person—only, Thomas was a whole, and Anxiety was—

Well, not.

And nothing could ever be for Anxiety, the bad part of a good whole. Any affection he received was secondhand only, meant primarily for Thomas, and that—sometimes that stung. It only made sense, though.

“And,” Prince said, taking a deep breath in the gap of Anxiety’s silence, “and for your sake. You don’t deserve to hate yourself.”

Anxiety flinched, his eyes skittering up towards the ceiling. “I don’t hate myself.”

“Despite what you may think, I’m not an idiot.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Lying blatantly to my face is just as effective.”

Anxiety sighed, wrapping his arms around himself and avoiding Prince’s eyes. If he saw the pity in them— _attention-greedy bastard, melodramatic, can’t even like himself the right way—_ he wouldn’t be able to hold himself together. “It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing you can do about it, so just—”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Prince said, setting his jaw. “There are definitely things we can do about it, if you’re willing to try.”

Anxiety hesitated—try to get better? That seemed impossible. He didn’t _have_ flaws, he _was_ a flaw. Getting better? That wasn’t something that could happen to him. Thomas could get better—if only Anxiety could get gone. “Things like what?” Anxiety said.

“Like—like learning to listen to you, and work together, and you can teach the rest of us how to help you instead of suffering alone. And I, at least, can maybe stop insulting you so much. I’m still going to argue with you, though.”

“I would be disappointed with anything else.”

“And we can all learn together and—and compromise and stuff. And I can tell you”—Prince paused, taking a deep breath and locking his gaze with Anxiety’s—“that I love you.”

Anxiety froze, his stomach dropping. “What?”

“I love you,” Prince said, the words forced through gritted teeth. “I’m shit at showing it, I know, but I _do._ And so do the others.”

Tears, hot and sharp, pricked suddenly at Anxiety’s eyes. He brought a hand up, swiping them away, and Prince made a concerned sound. “Dumbass,” Anxiety said. “I know that. You don’t have to say it. I know.”

“Are you sure?” Prince asked.

Anxiety glanced away, furiously ignoring the lump that was growing in his throat, and didn’t respond.

“Anxiety, I—can I touch you?”

He nodded, trying to breathe and _not cry dammit._ Strong, warm arms folded around him, pulling him to Prince’s chest. He buried his face against Prince’s tunic—the scent of armor polish and roses surrounded him, full and familiar. For a moment, he thought maybe he was going to be alright. He would take a few deep breaths, blink his tears away, and shove Prince off. They would bicker over something stupid, Prince would leave, and then—

And then the thought of how horrible that would be struck him, and his breath hitched, and Prince bowed his head until their noses touched and said, “It’s alright, Anx. It’s alright. I’ve got you. You’re safe here.”

He was gone, after that. Sobs clawed their way into his chest, tearing at his throat on the way out. Tears burned trails down his face, and his nose clogged almost immediately. His breath stuttered in his lungs, hot and fast, and Prince’s arms tightened around him. He felt fingers carding through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, and heard the constant murmur of Prince’s voice over the hum in his own ears.

“There you go, it’s okay. You’re doing just fine. I’m here, I’ll take care of you. Shh, just remember to breathe, okay? That’s it. In and out. Good job, Anxiety. You’re okay.” Prince ran a hand over his back in broad, slow circles. “It’s okay. I’ll stay here as long as you need. You don’t have to rush anything.”

“S-sorry,” Anxiety said, stumbling around his sobs. “S-so sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Prince said, running his fingernails through the downy hairs at the base of Anxiety’s neck. “Crying’s healthy, remember? That’s what Morality always says.”

“‘s gross.”

“Yeah, a little,” Prince agreed. “We’ve seen grosser, though. Remember that time I looked like a drowned rat?”

“Y-you _were_ a drowned rat.”

“Touche.” Prince shifted the hand on Anxiety’s back to his shoulders, gently pressing his thumbs into the muscle there. “It’s really okay, though. You can cry if you want to.”

Of course he didn’t _want_ to, but he found himself bawling into Prince’s chest for another ten minutes. When he finally slowed to sniffles, he was utterly exhausted. His eyes felt puffy and warm, his skin felt flushed, and his throat ached—

But it was so, so much better than the aftermath of a panic attack.

Prince was still curled close to him, one hand running a warm trail from the top of Anxiety’s neck to the base of his spine. His breathing was slow and quiet, a peaceful metronome that Anxiety thought he could listen to all day—or, at least, until he fell asleep, because _god_ was crying exhausting.

He couldn’t make Prince put up with that, though, especially after he’d been forced to witness Anxiety’s stupid breakdown already. “You don’t have to stay,” Anxiety said, his voice muffled by Prince’s sash.

“I don’t _have_ to,” Prince said, winding an arm around Anxiety’s waist. “I want to. That is, if you want me to.”

Anxiety sniffed, gulping back the tears that threatened to rise again. Prince _wanted_ to stay with him? With this cried-out, tired, ugly mess of him? “‘s fine. I don’t care what you do.”

Prince sighed happily, hooking his chin over Anxiety’s head. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Why was _Prince_ the one thanking _him?_ It didn’t make any sense—if anyone should have been grateful, it should have been Anxiety. And he was, god, he was, but he didn’t know how to express that in a way that wouldn’t make him look like an idiot or ruin this moment or drive Prince away.

“For not pushing me away.”

“Oh.”

Anxiety ducked his head further into Prince’s chest, feeling blood rush to his face. That wasn’t anything to be _thanked_ for. Prince should have wanted to be pushed away. Why would he appreciate being saddled with Anxiety’s stupid, emotional problems?

“Hey, Anx?” Prince said.

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering—”

A sudden flare of energy from Thomas startled the both of them into silence, and the stared at each other for a brief second before they were both springing out of the bed. Anxiety’s heart hammered a terrified tempo in his chest as they raced out of his room and back to the commons, where Logic and Morality were already huddled around the table.

“What’s wrong?” Anxiety asked, skidding to a stop next to them.

“Is Thomas alright?” Prince said. “What’s happening? What’s he doing?”

“Listen,” Logic said, sending the both of them a peevish glare.

They turned their attention outward, flinging themselves into Thomas’ senses to observe the situation. Thomas was standing in his room, his eyes focused on the far end, where one of the guards stood in an open doorway.

“—stopped it outside of the barn, sir,” the guard was saying, their eyes wide. “It requests your presence immediately, but you are under no obligation to—”

Anxiety dug into Thomas’ memories of the past few seconds, discovering with horror that someone—a dragon, fighting size—had been caught trying to get to where the eggs were kept. _Go, Thomas,_ he said, pouring urgency into the tight muscles of Thomas’ legs and shoulders. _We have to go._

 _He’s right,_ Prince said. _We have to take care of the eggs. Biol left them to us, so they’re our responsibility now._

“I’ll go,” Thomas said, and Anxiety was quick to send a surge of adrenaline through him, urging him on faster faster _faster._ As much as he wanted to know what Prince had been going to say, it would have to wait—the eggs came first right now. They had to. For Biol.


	17. Oh, It's So Bright!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title taken from the song “oh, it’s so bright!” from the little inferno soundtrack  
> warnings: allusions to nsfw, mentions of blood and violence, ableist language
> 
> beta'd by the outstanding randomslasher!
> 
> ahhhh we have more incredible fanart this chapter!!!
> 
> there's [this ](http://gotovallerik.tumblr.com/post/163992674652/i-reasding-this-masterpice-from-parsnipit) lovely art by @gotovallerik on tumblr!!!  
> and [this](http://pattykrabbies.tumblr.com/post/164770858152/fanart-of-the-beginning-of-the-fic-of-trying-and) brilliant art by @pattykrabbies on tumblr!!!  
> and [this](https://sidespart.tumblr.com/post/164968387455/okay-this-was-supposed-to-be-in-my-drafts-but) marvelous art by @sidespart on tumblr!!!  
> and last, but certainly not least, [this](http://randomslasher.tumblr.com/post/164988530816/a-quick-little-sketchy-piece-of-fanart-for) fantastic art by my darling beta, @randomslasher!!!
> 
>  
> 
> []()

When they reached the barn, the first thing Anxiety noticed was the cluster of fighting dragons near the edge of the yard. The dirt was torn up around in them in great furrows, and dark spots of blood slicked the withered grass. As they neared, Anxiety recognized Yipel—one of the more level-headed of the dragons of the Queen’s disassembled military. She peeled away from the group to dip her head to Thomas.

“Your Majesty,” she said.

“I’ve told you before, Yip. Just Thomas is fine.” Thomas said. “What happened? How are the eggs?”

“The eggs are fine, Your—Thomas,” Yipel said. “We have increased the number of guards on their watch until the situation can be assessed and we can confirm that this was a solitary job. As far as we can tell, the assailant acted alone, but one can never be too cautious about these things. If three great dragons were to fall into the wrong hands—well. Would you care to speak to the criminal or shall we escort them to the prison grounds at once?”

“I’d like to talk them, if it wouldn’t bother you guys.”

“Stand back.” Yipel turned to her troop. “The King requests to speak with the criminal at once.”

The fighting dragons fell away from the dragon they had been surrounding, and Anxiety froze when Thomas’ eyes landed on it—it was a large creature, riddled with scars, and it squinted unhappily at him once it had been freed.

_Oh, it’s_ them, Prince and Anxiety thought at the same time.

“You,” Thomas said. “You’re the dragon from the throne room. The one that guarded Circe’s egg.”

The dragon jutted its head forward, although one of the guard’s paws came down to block it from Thomas. “So I am, and you are Anxiety.”

“Well, kind of,” Thomas said. “My name’s Thomas.”

“Then I want nothing to do with you. I have come to speak with Anxiety, or perhaps with the rat Prince,” the dragon said, twisting its neck around and jamming its head under one of his wings.

_The rat Prince,_ Prince grumbled.

“That’s—they’re part of me. Anxiety and Prince are two of my sides,” Thomas said.

“You lie.”

“I don’t. I promise.”

“You cannot prove it.”

“I don’t _have_ to prove it.”

“If they are part of you, then why can you not show them to me? They were not a part of you when I saw them last,” the dragon said, its voice filtered through the membrane of its tattered wing.

“I’m not manifesting them, if that’s what you’re asking,” Thomas said. “Not around someone who’s acting as violently as you.”

“Oh, _violent.”_ The dragon’s head came up, its tail twitching irritably. “I have not been the least bit violent. I only came here because I heard rumor that the King was staying near this barn, and that he looked akin to the one I knew as Anxiety, and I wished to see him for myself. But now I have, and you do look like him, but you are not him, so my business is finished and I would be on my way. Only, you will not let me on my way. You will throw me back in chains, just like the Queen did.”

Anxiety glanced over, concerned, as Morality (and Thomas with him) recoiled at the idea. “I’m not going to do anything like that.”

“Hmph. Sure you are not. That is why you have your guards all about me like I am some kind of wild beast.”

“Well, how do we know you’re not going to hurt the eggs?”

“I am no egg-crusher,” the dragon hissed. “How dare you insinuate something so vile. I watched over the most fragile of eggs for nigh on fifty years, and not a bit of harm came to it. You have the proof of it right there, in your barn.”

_Let them go,_ Prince said. _I think they’re telling the truth._

_But keep the guards near them,_ Anxiety added.

“Yipel, you guys can move back a little. Give them some space. Let’s talk like civilized people, okay? What’s your name?”

The dragon huffed, glowering as its guards moved away from it. “I am Lord Erest, but that is no concern of yours.”

“And why are you here? That _is_ my concern.”

“I told you, heathen king, I am here to speak with Anxiety or Prince.”

_I’ll talk to him,_ Prince said. _What about you, Anxiety?_

_Mm, maybe not. I don’t trust him. I’ll just listen, if it’s all the same to you._

_I think it would be a feasible risk to take, Prince,_ Logic said. _It’s not like he can hurt us, with all of these guards around, and it might get us useful information._

_Only if you’re sure you want to, though, Ro. You don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable,_ Morality added.

_Oh, come on. If Anxiety’s not freaking out, I don’t see why we should,_ Prince said. _I’m not scared of this dragon. I’m a_ king _now, for heaven’s sake. Manifest me, Thomas._

_Stay close?_ Thomas said.

_Of course._

“Fine. You can talk to Prince,” Thomas said.

“Sir?” Yipel’s head jerked up, the spines down her back rising with distress. “Does that not make you more vulnerable?”

“You guys can protect me, right?”

“Of course, but it is still not advisable.”

“If you think it’s really dangerous, I won’t do it, but I think the risk is worth it.”

Yipel still looked uncomfortable, but she subsided, although (and Anxiety noticed this with the utmost approval) she kept her eyes narrowed at Erest. “Close the gap, there,” she said, and the guards tightened their ranks.

_You sure about this?_ Thomas asked.

_Definitely,_ Prince said.

Anxiety took a deep breath and tried to keep himself calm as Thomas focused himself and manifested Prince. Prince would be fine. He could take care of himself—and if he really couldn’t, then Anxiety would protect him. He had to.

A second later, Prince appeared in front of Thomas, straightening his tunic and looking around himself with unabashed interest, his eyes falling almost immediately to Erest. To Anxiety’s relief, however, he made no move to approach the dragon.

“Hello,” he said, waving. “I’m Prince. I’m not a rat.”

Erest turned a critical eye towards him, sniffing and tasting the air with his tongue. “You smell the same.”

Prince hesitated, evidently uncertain as to whether this was a compliment or not. “Uh, thanks? I think?”

“Well, fine. I have come to speak with you.”

“So I heard.”

“Though if you are not the King, I do not see what good it will do.”

“No, see, I _am_ the King. Kind of.”

It took a solid ten minutes of explaining before Erest finally believed that they weren’t only screwing with him, and that Prince and Anxiety really _were_ separate parts of Thomas. Even then, he looked vaguely unconvinced, but he did consent to speak to Thomas, instead of only Prince, about what he wanted.

“Since Prince and Anxiety freed me from the Queen, I have been traveling across the land. At first, that was quite fine—only, hunting becomes a difficult thing when one cannot fly, let alone when the King passes a bill requiring all dragons to go about procuring their meals quite legally. I may have overestimated my independence, and I have to make a proposal.” Here Erest folded his paws neatly together and paused for effect before adding, “Only if you would hear it, of course.”

“I’ll hear you out,” Thomas said, crossing his arms across his chest, “but I’m not making any promises, okay?”

“Fair enough. There is very little I can offer, but in my years of work for the Queen, I daresay I have become a very good nursemaid. I can help you to care for the eggs, and for the hatchlings, when they arrive. I was also privy to much of the Queen’s private life—oh, do not look like that, she was a great dragon, it is not as though I am referring to _sex_ —and I might offer you some advice that the nobles cannot.”

“In return for what?” Thomas asked, Logic and Anxiety prodding him to be wary.

“For food, for shelter, for safety,” Erest said. “Things that a king should not be hard-pressed to provide, if he is worth anything at all.”

_What do you guys think?_ Thomas asked, his thoughts curling curiously around the sides.

 And maybe, probably, Anxiety should protest, but—but— _I think it might be an idea worth considering. Erest was the one who helped and Prince and me escape with Circe’s egg, and if he was its captive nursemaid or whatever, he’s probably kind of attached to it. I mean of course we’d have to be cautious, but—_

_But what about our rule?_ Prince asked, frowning. _What if the hatchlings bond with Erest instead of us? What if—_

_Now, now, don’t go saying_ our rule, _son, or you’ll begin to sound like a tyrant. It’ll be a democracy soon, and the hatchlings aren’t going to be weapons wielded to force our will onto others. That’s what the Queen did with Biol, remember?_ Morality said.

_And we can keep him away from the eggs,_ Logic suggested. _He can still tell us how to care for them, and if it doesn’t sound too outrageous we can try. We can use his information about the Queen, too. I mean, it’s not like he’s asking for much—just basic survival stuff, really. We can provide that._

When they all finally agreed, Thomas nodded at Erest. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll set you up in a house nearby, but you’ll have to stay away from the eggs until we can trust you.”

Erest looked displeased by that, but he sighed and said, “Very well. Might we go now, so that—”

“Yipel, Yipel!” a voice cried from the barn, and Yipel spun around to face it. Another fighting dragon was bounding across the yard, its wings half-spread with fear. “Oh, Yipel, is that the king, there? Your Majesty, please come at once—the eggs are hatching!”

Anxiety’s heart lurched immediately into his throat and he watched, frozen with a gut-churning blend of excitement and terror, as Prince gasped and grabbed Thomas’ hand to pull him towards the barn. The dragons followed them in a rush, nearly tripping over each other in their haste, and crouched anxiously outside of the doors as Thomas and Prince entered. Yipel was snapping at Erest, but Anxiety could pay it no mind—not when there was a large fissure running down the middle of the orange egg.

Prince and Thomas scrambled to its side, and its guards parted rapidly to let them through. “Is it okay?” Thomas asked, Anxiety making his fingers shake. “What should we do?”

“I believe it is fine,” one of the guards said. “I have attended the hatchings of several fighting dragons, and this appears to be similar.”

“It is not similar, at all,” Erest cried from behind them. “Prince, you must listen to me—you must get all of the other dragons out, and you must find food, quickly.”

Prince turned to face the old dragon, his fingers still laced tightly with Thomas’. “Why?” he asked.

“Great dragons imprint with their clanmates, or whoever they _perceive_ to be their clanmates, right out of the shell, so unless you want your beasts to be groveling at the feet of that guard, there, I should get them out. And you must have food—they will be hungry, more than anything else,” Erest said. “If you do not feed them at once, they will leave the barn and attempt to find food on their own.”

_They?_ Anxiety and Logic asked.

“What do you mean, they?” Thomas asked. “They’re not all going to hatch at once, are they?”

“Well, I dare say they are, if you only look at how all of them are cracking. They have already decided to be hatchmates, I suppose.”

_Oh my god,_ Anxiety said, as Thomas’ eyes roved over the other two eggs. The blue egg had tiny fissures spreading away from a divot in its shell, and the green egg was wobbling on its brazier. _Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god._

_Oh, this is so exciting,_ Morality said, and Anxiety could feel Thomas’ heart filling with a strange blend of apprehension and eagerness. _We’re going to be like—like a_ dad.

_We are not. We are merely going to be their caretakers—and we have Erest, now, so if he comes through we will not even need to be that,_ Logic said. _Now, come on. Let’s do as he says and get everyone out. Even if he’s playing us, I don’t see how the eggs can be harmed by that, should we keep the guards close by outside._

So, on Thomas’ orders, the eggs’ guards circled around the outside of the barn. Anxiety could see Yipel keeping a close watch on Erest, who was peering anxiously through the doors with his strange pink eyes. A group of dragons split off, heading into the city to gather—at Erest’s advice—copious amounts of meat and water.

Once that was done, Thomas and Prince knelt in front of the eggs. The orange one seemed as though it would be the first to hatch—the crack in it had nearly spread from one end to the next, and Anxiety’s stomach flipped as he saw the first hint of movement within it.

“What are the other sides saying?” Prince asked suddenly. “Could you—would you manifest them? That way the hatchlings can see them?”

Thomas was quick to manifest them, and Anxiety immediately began pacing a line in front of the eggs, rubbing one thumb over the soft spot inside of his hoodie sleeve and muttering about all the awful things that could befall an egg in the middle of hatching. As he did, he saw Logic sit beside Thomas and Morality rest a hand on Thomas’ shoulder.

“Anxiety, come watch,” Prince said, glancing over his shoulder. “Walking around isn’t going to make them hatch any faster.”

Anxiety huffed—maybe it wouldn’t make them hatch any faster, but it would certainly get rid of some this too-harsh energy inside of him—but came to sit by Prince. Prince laid a warm hand on his back, and—and okay, maybe that was a little better than pacing. “They’re going to hate us,” Anxiety said, staring hopelessly at the eggs.

“Of course they won’t,” Morality said. “They’re going to be absolute sweethearts.”

“They actually might, though. Who knows how great dragon hatchlings feel about humans?” Logic asked. “While this is a fantastic experiment, I wouldn’t get your hopes up. This entire occasion may very well turn sour, and we should have to hand the hatchlings over to the fighting dragons to care for. Don’t get attached yet.”

“But if they _do_ like us, it’s going to be so awesome. Three great dragons? All ours?” Prince said, his eyes brightening.

“They don’t belong to us, they belong to themselves,” Morality said, giving Prince a pointed look. “A good parent understands and accepts that.”

“Yes, yes, of course,,” Prince said, waving him off. “Oh—look, look, it’s poking its nose out.”

A small snout was jutting out of the crack in the orange shell, breaking away several pieces before pausing. They watched with bated breath until it began to move again, replacing its snout with several tiny black talons. It tore away a larger piece of the shell and jutted its head forward, out into the open—unfortunately, the momentum of its body overset the egg and sent it toppling over with an undignified squeal.

“Oh dear,” Morality said, reaching forward to roll the egg so that the opening faced the ceiling of the barn. “There you go, little buddy. Are you going to come out now?”

The hatchling struggled upright, its head and shoulders breaking through the hole it had made. It swiveled its head around, fastening the five of them with an open stare. It was a beautiful creature—its scales were a rich orange, and its scraggly mane and eyes were violet. It was clearly draconic, but it also had several of the characteristics that set it apart from fighting dragons or street dragons. It had five talons on each paw, and the long and sinuous body that he recognized from Biol. It did not yet have antlers or muzzle-tendrils, but Anxiety thought that those might grow in later.

And if they didn’t, it wouldn’t matter, because as soon as their eyes met, Anxiety knew it had him wrapped around its little finger.

“Hello,” Thomas said to the hatchling, and Anxiety saw Prince’s fingers tighten around his. “I’m—I’m Thomas.”

The hatchling leapt forward in a great rush of energy, kicking itself the rest of the way out of the egg and sending the shell toppling from the brazier. It shook itself off, stretching its wings out a little tentatively and wobbling on its feet. After a few seconds of staring fiercely at its own legs, it padded away from the braziers to sit before them.

“I am Khylon, am I not?” it asked.

Clearly as startled as Anxiety was—hatchlings could talk? what?—Thomas fumbled for a moment before Prince answered for him, saying, “Yes, you are. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Thank you; it is nice to meet you as well,” Khylon said. “But praytell, who are you? I know that you are Thomas, but who are the rest of you? And why do you look so much alike? Are you all of the same progenitor? How happy they must be to have you all! Are we clanmates? It would be a fine thing to be clanmates with all of you.”

“I’m Prince,” Prince said. “Thomas is—is like our progenitor, I suppose. And these are Anxiety, Morality, and Logic.”

Khylon dipped its head to each of them in turn. “And you are my clanmates…?”

“We don’t really have a clan,” Prince said. “But—”

“But we have a family,” Morality said, beaming at Khylon, “and the five of us are definitely your family.”

“Oh, well, that is very nice. Might I ask, though, where is my progenitor? I had oft thought that they would be the first one I would meet,” Khylon said.

“Your progenitor is Hethe, right?” Logic asked, adjusting his glasses. “They’re dead.”

_“Logic,”_ Morality said, sending him an appalled look.

“Well, it’s true.”

“That doesn’t mean you tell—”

“No, he is quite right,” Khylon said. “If they are dead, there is nothing to be done for it. I am grateful to have been promptly informed. Now we may move on to more important matters: do you have food?”

After having consumed what Anxiety was convinced was at least a quarter of its weight in raw meat and water, Khylon flopped across Thomas’ lap. Its tail draped over Morality’s and Logic’s legs, and its head found its way over Anxiety’s and Prince’s. It fell asleep almost immediately, heavy and warm and still vaguely slimy, and Anxiety laid a reverent hand on its side. This was what Biol had fought so hard for. This was what he had died for.

He didn’t have long to appreciate the calm moment, though—as soon as Khylon had drifted to sleep, the green egg split entirely down the middle, startling all of them. The hatchling came out backwards, its hind legs scrabbling for purchase on the brazier. Tiny, offended squeaks emanated from inside of the egg as its head was drawn back and back and back—and, at last, out into the open.

Anxiety jerked beside them, jumping to his feet. “That’s—that’s—”

“It’s not Circe,” Prince said, offering Anxiety a comforting look. “It’s not, Anx.”

It did look incredibly like her, though. It had the same dark green scales and bright red mane and crimson eyes. Looking more closely, however, Anxiety saw several obvious differences. One of its front paws was mangled, fingers grown together and palm swollen. One of its wings, too, appeared malformed and did not extend when it attempted to flap the eggshell off of them. A cleft ran from its lip to one of its nostrils, and it stumbled when it attempted to walk towards them.

“Well, that is a pity,” Erest murmured behind them, and Anxiety glanced behind them to see him turning away, hiding his head under a wing.

The green hatchling took another wary step, but it limped on its crippled paw. “Oh! that is quite unpleasant,” it said, looking helplessly at them. Its voice was quiet and unassuming, lisping slightly. “I would come to you, only—”

“Oh, no, it’s fine, it’s fine,” Morality said, rushing to its side. “Are you alright? Do you hurt very much?”

“No, I am fine, thank you. Only I am a little hungry.”

“We have food right over here. Would it be alright if I carried you?” Morality asked.

“If it would not tax you too much, I would appreciate it.”

Morality reached down, scooping the hatchling carefully into his arms. It was much smaller than Khylon, hardly larger than a small dog, but it ate with a voracious appetite when Morality set it down next to the tub of meat. Only once it had finished gorging itself did it deign to speak with them again.

“Who are you?” it asked, looping itself up next to the meat tub.

“I’m Thomas,” Thomas said, “and these are my sides: Morality, Prince, Logic, and Anxiety. We’re your family, if you’ll have us.”

“You are human,” it said, then cocked its head as though pondering. “That is quite strange, but I find nothing particularly unpleasant about it. If there is anyone who should be rejecting clanmates, however, I daresay it is you.”

“Why?” Thomas asked.

The hatchling looked ruefully at its own body. “I am newly hatched, but I am not an idiot. This is not what dragons are supposed to look like—only look at my own hatchmate, there, on your lap.”

“Well, we’re not going to reject you,” Thomas said, and Anxiety saw him set his jaw—an endearingly stubborn expression he got from Prince. “It doesn’t matter what you look like. We’re not _that_ shallow.”

“I did not mean to suggest that you were. Only, I will not be able to do things that clanmates should be able to. I do not believe that I can fly, or run, and hunting will be difficult. Storytelling would be a suitable profession, perhaps, if only I did not lisp,” the hatchling said. “But if you will take me, I will do my best to be of use.”

Morality frowned. “You don’t have to be useful. That’s not what family is about.”

“Then you shall have to explain more of this ‘family’ concept to me,” the hatchling said, yawning widely, “when I have slept. Morality, would you very much mind to bring me back over there, to you? It is a bit chilly over here.”

But when the hatchling curled up in their laps, winding itself around Khylon—who merely grumbled and twisted to be more comfortable—Anxiety thought that being chilly wasn’t the only reason it wanted to be near them. He set a gentle hand on its neck and felt the soft, damp scales there. It hummed happily.

“I am in love,” Morality said, very seriously.

“Bestiality, huh?” Anxiety said. “I never pegged you for it.”

“What’s bestiality?” Morality asked.

“It is when a human and an animal—” Logic began, but Thomas jumped to clap a hand over his mouth before he could finish.

“Never mind, Mo. It’s not like that,” Thomas said, leveling Anxiety with a glare.

“It had best not be,” a new voice said, “or I will not be your clanmate, at all.”

Anxiety whirled around to see Biol standing in front of the blue egg, which had been meticulously picked apart—but oh, god, it wasn’t Biol, his stomach reminded him with a painful twist. It couldn’t look more like him, though. (Unless, of course, one added antlers and muzzle-tendrils and several tons of weight.)

“Biol,” Anxiety said, his voice stricken. “You look just like Biol.”

“Am I to assume that that is my progenitor? In which case, it makes complete sense,” the blue hatchling said. “I am genetically identical to them. But I do not think my name is Biol—it is Bethious, is it not? And who are you?”

Thomas introduced them all again, and watched in awe as Bethious ate. Anxiety’s eyes never once moved from the hatchling, and Prince looped an arm around his shoulders. Once Bethious had finished eating, it, too, draped itself across their laps and its two hatchmates. When all three hatchlings were fed and asleep, Thomas and the sides traded looks among themselves.

“This,” Thomas said, “is going to be very interesting.”

“I like interesting things,” Logic said.

“Aren’t they just the cutest?” Morality said, sighing and making ridiculous googly-eyes at the hatchlings.

“I can’t wait until we can teach them to hunt,” Prince said, eyes gleaming. “Can you imagine how fearsome they’ll be? We can get rid of all the monsters in the kingdom.”

“They’re okay,” Anxiety admitted—of course, they were also perfect and beautiful and wonderful, but he couldn’t just _say_ that. He had a badass reputation to maintain. “I just hope we don’t ruin them.”

“We won’t. We’re going to be just fine, and so are they, as long as we work together,” Thomas said. “Alright? Together?”

His sides looked at each other and then, as one, said, “Together.”


	18. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: brief self-loathing, ableist language, mentions of murder
> 
> beta'd, as always, by the lovely randomslasher!

_We could wear the surcoat,_ Prince said.

_Yeah, well, we could look like an idiot, too. Doesn’t mean we have to, although we definitely will,_ Anxiety said, looking critically at aforementioned surcoat—a gaudy affair, with several layers of brightly-colored cloth and embroidered jewels.

_Okay, Mr. Mope, what do_ you _want to wear?_

_Let’s just grab a tunic and some trousers or something._

_Seriously? We’re the_ king.

_Yeah, for, like, seven more hours._

_And even then, we’re still a highly influential member of the government—_

_You know, there’s no law stating that governmental officials have to wear idiotic clothing. I mean, I get that it’s symbolic, and it reflects their inner stupidity more than anything else, which is why_ you _like wearing it, but—_

_We’re wearing the blue tunic,_ Logic said, _with the robe. It’s bright enough to set us apart while still allowing for practicality._

_But I wanna wear the_ surcoat, Prince said, a whine in his voice.

_Kids, no more arguing,_ Morality said, sticking his head around the corner to look at them. _This is Thomas’ day. Let’s all relax and enjoy it._

_Oh, yeah, sure,_ Anxiety said. _Relax._

_Okay, but what about the crown?_ Prince said, when Thomas’ eyes fell on it—heavy and solid gold and sitting on a pedestal in the castle’s throne room, where it had sat untouched for nearly half a year now. _This is our last chance to wear it._

_No,_ Morality said.

_Why no-o-o-t?_

_Because it represents tyranny and unjust leadership to the people. It’s been a symbol of an uncaring ruler since the Queen took over all those centuries ago. To wear it now, when we’ve only just defeated her, will make our new democracy feel insecure,_ Morality said.

_That was surprisingly astute,_ Logic said, giving him an admiring look. _I agree._

_Ugh, fine. No crown,_ Prince said.

“Thomas, Thomas, Thomaaas,” Bethious cried, racing into their room. Khylon was close on his heels, their talons clattering noisily on the stone floor.

Rather than freak out about why the hatchlings were bolting into their room as though being chased, Anxiety chose to freak out about the fact that they were being so noisy—if they weren’t careful, they’d bring Erest around, and then Thomas would have to deal with that grumpy loudmouth for the next hour and a half.

_Oh, hush, you. He’s not_ that _bad,_ Thomas thought, and Anxiety huffed at him.

_He_ is _unusually annoying,_ Prince agreed. _Especially where Fico is concerned._

Ignoring them, the twat, Thomas grabbed his blue tunic and pulled it over his undershirt, before turning to the hatchlings. “What is it?”

Bethious skidded to a stop beside him, huffing at Khylon when they crashed into his haunches. “We cannot get it on,” he said.

“Can’t get what on?” Thomas asked.

“This.” Bethious held up a paw, cupping a few elegant spools of gold chain. Anxiety could almost feel Prince light up at the sight of the jewelry. “Erest says it is to go on our horns, only I cannot figure out how.”

“Come here.” Thomas knelt in front of them, taking the chains and untangling them. He wound the chain with blue gems around Bethious’ new stubby, velvety horns. The jewelry, Anxiety had discovered from Erest (ugh) had been designed for fighting dragons, whose size the hatchlings had yet to reach, and so they hung loosely. Thomas wove the extra into the uncombed _(tsk,_ Morality said) fur of Bethious’ forelock. “There. How is that?”

Bethious turned to admire himself in Thomas’ mirror, twisting his head this way and that before saying, “It is very nice. Thank you, Thomas.”

“No problem. Khylon, you want me to—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Khylon shoved their chain, studded with red gems, into Thomas’ hands. He wove it around their horns and into their mane, and they said, “It is lovely. Thank you very much. Should you like me to help with your dressing? I think you would look just dashing in that surcoat over there—”

_Ha,_ Prince said. _Even the hatchling agrees._

“—with the white cloak and the dark robe, as those would contrast nicely. Oh, and the gold-buckled boots? Those are always suitable for occasions like these, although perhaps you might get them dirty. Hm. Well, what about the silver-buckled ones, with the gems? Those would also be—”

_They get this from you,_ Anxiety grumbled, shooting Prince a sour look.

Luckily, Thomas spoke before Prince could retort. “Logic’s actually already picked something out, but your suggestions were very nice, too.”

“Oh, Logic. Tell him that it had better be something good,” Khylon said, then rose up onto their hind legs to stare into Thomas’ eyes. “Do you hear that, Logic? Something lovely and good. This is a special occasion and no time for your incessant pragmatism.”

The first time that Thomas had taken his sides back into himself, the hatchlings had been horrified—and to be fair, Anxiety couldn’t blame them. But after copious amounts of comfort and explanation, however, they quickly warmed to the idea of their clanmates—their family—all being contained within a single person. (Anxiety had yet to be convinced that this was a good idea, since it would mean that their entire family could thus be taken out in one fell swoop—but the hatchlings seemed utterly certain that it was a grand thing, for reasons he had yet to determine.)

The hatchlings had since gotten used to speaking to Thomas and his sides independently, even while they were in the same body—a fact that had taken Anxiety a while to adjust to. No one had ever done that before. They usually just spoke to Thomas, unless the sides were manifested, in which case they were all treated awkwardly. It was understandable, he supposed. Theirs was an unusual situation.

_Tell them that my pragmatism is not incessant; theirs is only nonexistent,_ Logic said, looking down his nose at Khylon. _And their jewelry is going to become tangled or lost very quickly if they decide to play with the other hatchlings today._

“Logic says you’re adorable,” Thomas said, reaching out to squish Khylon’s face between his palms, much to Logic’s outrage.

“Well, he is quite observant,” Khylon said, smiling.

“Where’s your sister, by the way? Is she almost ready?” Thomas asked.

“Erest is helping her put on her bandages,” Bethious said. “She’s—”

“I am too ready,” Fico cried, bolting around the corner as quickly as she could on three legs. Her other leg was bound tightly in a sling, and her twisted wing bandaged to her back. To offset the unusual appearance of this (although Morality had insisted she didn’t need to) she had donned a dark red waistcoat and matching bracers, which her siblings eyed with not a little jealousy.

“Why can’t I have a waistcoat?” Bethious asked, looking back at Thomas.

“Because you’ll just get it dirty,” Thomas said, ushering the three of them towards the door. “Now, come on. We don’t want to be late. Anxiety will throw a fit.”

_Yes,_ Anxiety said. _I will._

The three hatchlings bounded ahead of them, speaking enthusiastically with each other as they exited the castle. It had been reconstructed once the city had been pieced back together, although it wasn’t nearly as grand as the Queen’s had been—it did serve as a fine meeting place for the new democracy, however.

They emerged onto the courtyard to the sound of firecrackers _(senseless,_ Logic thought, _since it won’t be sundown for another hour)_ and cheering. A crowd had assembled in front of the the castle’s steps, filled with people and dragons and elves and even, Thomas thought, a dwarf or two. Several tables, packed with native crops and foreign delicacies, were spread throughout the crowd, and the hatchlings made a beeline for them.

_Tell them to be careful,_ Anxiety said.

_And to have fun!_ Morality added.

“Be careful,” Thomas called after them, “and have fun.”

After the hatchlings left, Thomas was immediately swept up by several nobles and a group of new representatives, all who fought desperately for his ear. He and the sides listened patiently, allowing themselves to be dragged through the courtyard festivities until the fireworks began—it was their job, anyway, as a member of the new Parliament, to listen to their complaints and suggestions.

When the first firework went off, however, exploding into a million pieces of color above their heads, Thomas’ attention was arrested by a trio of startled hatchlings. Bethious and Khylon curled themselves anxiously around his legs, and Fico clambered her way onto his shoulders.

“Are those the fireworks?” Khylon asked, their tail twitching unhappily. “They are much louder than I had previously anticipated.”

_I remember our first time seeing fireworks,_ Morality said, his voice wistful.

_Yeah,_ Anxiety said. _It was horrific._

_Hey, c’mon now, it was also—_

_Kinda fun, yeah._

Morality paused for a moment, evidently surprised by Anxiety’s admission, and then beamed at him. _You got it, kiddo!_

“Yes,” Thomas said, snatching his sides’ attention back as he sat and smoothed a hand down Kylon’s mane. “Those are the fireworks. We can go inside, if they’re too loud.”

“No,” Khylon said, after a moment’s contemplation. “They are not _that_ loud, and they are pretty. Perhaps we might stay for a few more…?”

When Fico and Bethious agreed, they found a spot near the edge of the courtyard to sit and watch. The ground was cool and dry under them, although it was warmer than Thomas had ever felt it before—and, looking at the horizon, where an orange moon was rising next to the blue moon, he thought he knew why.

“Did you know that your progenitors were named after the moons?” Thomas asked at Logic’s prodding, glancing at Bethious and Khylon. “Biol is the blue moon, and Hethe is the orange one.”

“That is not quite the way _I_ heard it,” Khylon said.

“Nor I,” Bethious agreed.

“Well, it is the way I heard it,” Fico said. “Praytell, how did you hear it?”

“The moons are named after our progenitors, not the other way around. They were around before the people were, and they were very grand, so naturally the people decided to name things after them, and the moons simply made sense. They look like us, do they not?” Khylon said, looking proudly at the bright orange of their scales.

“Of course, you probably did not hear it that way, because when you were in the shell, you were kept by the wretched Queen, and she would not have wanted to you to know things like that, that made our progenitors seem so lovely,” Bethious said.

Fico frowned, clicking her talons together. “But you were kept by the Queen, too.”

“Not for our whole lives. We were laid before she even became the Queen, and our progenitors told us many stories before she murdered Hethe and stole us,” Khylon said.

“Oh.” Fico curled more tightly around Thomas’ shoulders, mouthing at the collar of his shirt. “Well. Your story is probably the correct one. My progenitor was—you know.”

_Oh, no,_ Anxiety thought. _She’s going to grow up to hate herself, and then us, and what if she becomes like Cir—_

_Don’t think like that. Your biology doesn’t determine who you grow up to be. She’s going to be an amazing dragon,_ Prince said.

_Only, you can’t let her keep thinking like that, Thomas,_ Morality said.

_I have to agree. Not only is it unfair to her as a sentient being, but the risk that an unstable great dragon could pose to the kingdom is unacceptable,_ Logic said.

_But what am I supposed to say? I’ve never dealt with a situation like hers. I’ve never had a parent who was, you know, a malevolent dragon-witch tyrant,_ Thomas said.

_Let me talk to her,_ Anxiety said suddenly, fighting through the knot in his stomach as he did.

_What?_ Thomas asked.

Anxiety scowled. _Don’t sound so eager. Just let me tell the hatchling she’s not a piece of shit because her mother was._

_Yes,_ Prince said, his voice suddenly quiet. _Let him, Thomas._

“Well, now you’ve got Anx all riled up,” Thomas said, smiling at Fico. “Beth, scoot over so I can manifest him, please?”

The first thing Anxiety realized when he was manifested was that _holy fuck he had no idea what he was doing._ But—

But if there was anyone who could relate to what Fico was going through, it would be him, so he had to try.

“Come here, Fico,” Anxiety said, scooping her off of Thomas’ shoulders and settling her into his arms like an overgrown cat. “Listen, I can’t tell you that you won’t become like Circe. You could. But so could Khylon, or Bethious, or hell, even Thomas. Everybody has the potential to be bad, but everybody has the potential to be good, too. You get to make that choice—not your biology, or your family, or your history. You.”

Fico sighed, but met his eyes and said, “I suppose you are correct. Sometimes it does not feel that way, though. I cannot choose to fly, or walk without a limp, or speak clearly; how strange it is to be able to choose to be good when I cannot even choose my physical features, and when everyone else thinks that I will be bad.”

“I don’t think you’re going to be bad,” Khylon said, lifting their head to look more closely at Fico. “I think you’re going to be very good.”

“Me, too,” Bethious said.

“You’re going to be brilliant, Fico,” Anxiety said, “in whatever you decide to do. I believe in you.”

“Well, that is certainly something, coming from you. Thank you,” Fico said, stretching down to headbutt her hatchmates and then nuzzling Anxiety’s chin.“I shall certainly try.”

“I can’t ask for anything more,” Anxiety said. He snuggled Fico to his chest in a brief (and completely heartless, okay, it wasn’t like he _cared)_ hug and then set her back into Thomas’ lap before sinking into the mindscape again.

_You, too,_ Prince said, looking at Anxiety. _You’re going to be good, too._

_Oh, be quiet, Sir Suck-up._

_No, he’s right, Anxiety. We can all try to be good—even you,_ Morality said.

_I mean—yeah, maybe. I’m_ literally _a manifestation of a bad emotion, but—but I want to—to give Thomas a little more slack, to work more_ with _you guys instead of against you, to figure out what makes you—and Thomas—feel happy. I want to try._ Anxiety swallowed hard, staring at the floor of the mindscape commons. A million things flashed through his head—images of being cursed by the Stone, of meeting Biol, of a trio of hatchlings. The raw agony of losing Thomas and the other sides, the blinding fear he’d felt from Circe’s back as she fought Biol, the blissful relief of being reunited with himself.

If he could survive all of that—and by himself, no less—than maybe, just maybe, he could survive trying to be good.

_Oh,_ kiddo, Morality said, his voice wavering. Anxiety looked up, alarmed, but was suddenly engulfed in Prince’s enthusiastic embrace.

_Oh, that’s great—just imagine all the stuff we’re going to be able to do now,_ Prince said. _We can go mountain climbing, and hunting with the hatchlings, and—_

_Baby steps,_ Morality reminded him. He stepped up to Anxiety and cupped his face in his hands, eyes twinkling. _But thank you, Anxiety. I’m so proud._

Anxiety ducked his head, grumbling. _‘s nothing, seriously._

_I, too,_ Logic said, clearing his throat, _am grateful that you have decided to be slightly less stubborn. It will certainly make my job easier._

_I haven’t decided anything, you—_

_And,_ Logic added, _I’m going to try too._

_Me too!_ Morality said. _I’ll do my best to listen to you more, bud._

_And me three,_ Prince said. _I know I haven’t made things easy for you, but I want to be better, too—for Thomas, yeah, but also for—for_ you, _Anx. I—_

A sudden barrage of pops drew Anxiety’s attention back to the outside world, and he felt Prince’s fingers lace through his. _I think it’s the finale,_ Prince said, pulling him closer to the window on which Thomas’ vision could be seen through. The scent of spiced cider and smoke drifted in on a cool breeze, and fireworks crackled in the sky above them—shards of color and light and noise, rattling in their chests. Prince glanced at him, and the lights shone in his eyes. _Beautiful._

_King Cliché has entered the building,_ Anxiety said, rolling his eyes.

_I’m a prince, not a king—not anymore, I suppose._

_Oh, sorry. Prince Predictable, then._

Prince snorted. _Fine. I am going to do something entirely unpredictable now, just to spite you._

_Just to spite me?_

_Of course._ He paused, then added, _Also because I love you._

_Goddammit._ Anxiety felt his face heating and scowled at Prince. _Stop saying that._

_Well, it’s true._ Prince turned to face him completely, locking their eyes. _Now, then: Virgil Sanders, may I kiss you?_

Anxiety attempted to bury his face into his hands, but his fingers were entwined with Prince’s, and he merely bashed himself in the forehead with their knuckles. His face couldn’t possibly get any redder. In fact, he was certain that it would explode if it did. _Don’t joke around,_ he said, glowering.

_I’m not. I’m serious. I want to kiss you, if—if you want._

Anxiety stared at him for a long moment, heart thundering in his throat. Was Prince actually joking and just saying he wasn’t? Were Morality and Logic in on it? Was it some kind of cruel prank? Prince couldn’t possibly love him that much, and let alone like _that._ Or was it like that? Was it romantic or platonic or sexual or what?

_It’s okay if you say no,_ Prince said.

And that—that, for a brief moment, wiped away all of Anxiety’s fears. He could say no. He had a choice. Why would he have a choice if it was a joke? And why would Prince look so fucking starry-eyed? Was he—was he _blushing?_

_You’re blushing,_ Anxiety said, in something almost like awe.

_Well you don’t have to point it out,_ Prince said, huffing. _If you don’t want to kiss, you can just say so—_

_No, I want to._

Prince’s mouth snapped shut. _You—you do?_

_Yeah. I mean, if you want to. It’s not like it_ means _anything._

_No,_ Prince said, _it does._

Anxiety stared at him for a long moment, silent and terrified and hopeful all in one sickening second. _Okay,_ he said, finally. _It does._

_And you still want to?_

_Yeah._

_Okay._ Prince’s hands released his and came up to cup his face. One of his palms slid around to the back of Anxiety’s neck, and the other moved gently over his cheek. _Just punch me in the face or something if you want to stop._

_You got it._

Anxiety stood stock-still as Prince moved forward—his heart felt like it was going to pop (whether from exertion or emotion, he couldn’t say) and sweat prickled over his skin. Had he brushed his teeth? But they’d been eating those lemon cookies the elves had brought earlier, so it wouldn’t matter. Did his breath stink? Probably.

He didn’t know how to kiss, either—he’d never had the chance to learn. He’d never really felt the need to. Romance was Prince’s and Morality’s thing. He was the one who always strangled their blossoming relationships with Thomas’ romantic endeavours. (Of which there were remarkably few, given that they’d been trying to overthrow the kingdom for some time now, even before they’d first set hands on the Stone.)

Prince’s lips met his, warm and dry, chapped by the winter (early spring?) wind. Anxiety expected all of his worries to fall away (that was what happened in the stories, right?) but no such thing happened—he was fumbling with how to move his own mouth against Prince’s, and where to put his hands, and whether to open or shut his eyes, and wondering whether Morality or Logic were watching.

But, slowly, with Prince’s thumb rubbing a warm line along his jaw and his lips moving gently and steadily against Anxiety’s, he found himself relaxing—not all the way, not even close, but enough. They were trying. It wasn’t perfect, but they were trying, and that made something—some bitter, angry thing—in Anxiety’s chest relax.

They were trying. It was enough. It was maybe even good.

They parted a few seconds later, and Prince’s eyes flickered open to meet his. A smile sprawled across Prince’s face, uncharacteristically sheepish. _You good?_ he asked.

_Yeah,_ Anxiety said, a tiny smile tugging at his own mouth. _Yeah, I’m good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, here we are!!! the end!!! whew, that was an adventure. i’m immensely grateful to everyone who’s taken the time to read through this fic, whether you’ve been here from the beginning or you just stumbled onto this story today! your constant support and encouragement means more than i could ever say!!! a great big thank you to each and every one of you!!!
> 
> there is one person i have to flail about a little more, though, and that’s my brilliant beta randomslasher!!! they're amazing and marvelous and phenomenal and askljkl everything i could say about them is so ridiculously inadequate bc they're just!!! that good guys!!! they've made this story infinitely better than it ever could’ve been without their help, and if you’ve enjoyed it at all you undoubtedly have them to thank!!! their advice has been unbelievably valuable and i never could have done this without them!!! their encouragement has kept me invested in this story (as it has in so many others!) and i don’t think that i could ever thank them enough!!! they've spent so much time and effort trying to polish this fic up, and i just!!! they're the best and i love them and ahhhhh!!!
> 
> so with that eloquence, we close! on the subject of trying and towers, i have no more to say! i hope you guys have enjoyed this journey as much as i have!!! thank you all so much again!!! it’s been a blast!


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